Alea Iacta Est
by Mabyn
Summary: SamJack Let one equal the whole allow three to equal the value of one. Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be reintegrated into the whole.
1. Deconstruction

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to MGM.

**Author's note:** This behemoth is all about rape and recovery. I sugar coat nothing. It gets explicit, it gets uncomfortable, it gets damn hard to read. But the ending is hopeful, especially to anyone who has ever survived similar assault. Oh, and it's 'ship. Complete and unabashed 'ship.

**Warnings:** Contains explicit rape scenes, swearing, and references to suicide, self-injury and disordered eating. …And arguments over breakfast cereal. Just in case anyone is morally opposed to Coco Puffs…

**Rating:** MA

**Spoilers:** Ya know, I think I wrote a novella and didn't once mention an actual SG ep. Weird.

**Grammatical Nuances:** I purposefully split some of the larger paragraphs up to make it easier to read. Nothing scares my ADD brain away from a story faster than a continuous barrage of text on the screen.

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Alea Iacta Est

Part I:

Deconstruction

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"Chevron six engaged." The stargate roared on towards the defining glyph, surging as the chevron locked into place. "Chevron seven…locked." The horizon coursed towards the members of SG-1, billowing with the energy of time, space, and density.

"SG-1, you have a go." General Hammond's voice clipped over the speakers.

Colonel O'Neill dug his sunglasses from out of his pocket and placed them securely on his head. "Let's go, campers." He dutifully led the way up the grate and stepped through the horizon, followed in turn by Daniel and Carter. However, instead of glittering lakes and lush forests, or even sweltering desert wasteland and ancient sandstone structures, P3X-275 greeted them with three foreign words torn from the throat of an unseen foe:

"_Alea iacta est!"_

The world shuddered then and grew infinitely black.

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Colonel O'Neill became aware of his head first and immediately wished for a couple of Tylenol. Then, as the rest of his body began to check in with their various cerebral headquarters, he would have given his right arm for an entire bottle of Tylenol. _Scratch that,_ he thought. _Morphine. _He attempted to lift his head and open his eyes in order to survey his surroundings, but the muscles involved with such movement clenched and pulsed in vehement opposition. He groaned and decided that for the time being, movement was highly overrated. _Yup, whole IV of morphine... _His brain lapsed then, sending him again into swirling darkness.

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He was not certain how long he spent sprawled on the ground attempting to regain control of his senses, but he was quite certain that circumstances were foreboding and the probability of imprisonment high. Clothing rustled against flesh and he became aware of another individual in the nearby vicinity.

He heard Daniel's raspy groan, followed by an exclamation that came off sounding more like a plea. "Ow."

"Yeah..." O'Neill winced as he again attempted the odious task of lifting his head. This time, however, his body was much more cooperative, allowing him to not only raise his head, but gingerly sit as well. Things were looking up.

He rubbed his eyes, attentive to their sudden sensitivity and cautiously opened their lids. "Lights?" he asked into the darkness, "Anyone?"

"Pre-electric."

"Bless you."

"Prior to electricity."

"What?"

"No electricity, Jack."

"Oh."

Eventually he grew accustomed to the dim environment and was able to ascertain the dimensions of their cell and the thick metal beams that crisscrossed the only visible exit. Weak firelight drifted in from several yards away, its source unseen but welcome. The chamber was large for a cell, 6 meters by 8 meters if he had to guess. Straw littered the ground, providing them with a modicum of cushion against the rough stone floor. O'Neill squinted into the dark recesses of the room endeavoring to make out the shape of his third team member.

Daniel coughed then and tentatively pulled himself up to lean heavily against the wall. "I take it this planet isn't abandoned, then."

"Ya think?" O'Neill muttered quickly. "Carter over there?" O'Neill grimaced as he forced himself to physically check the back of the cell for any sign of his missing officer. "Carter?" he called, his concern mounting.

"She isn't over here, Jack." Daniel was on his knees now, rustling through the straw along with O'Neill.

"Shit." O'Neill sat down heavily and felt Daniel's weight settle about a foot away from him. He massaged his temples briefly. "I'm assuming that our gear and weapons have been confiscated by the people who supposedly abandoned P3X..."

"275. Yup." Daniel nodded. "I would assume so." Groaning slightly, the doctor stood and walked slowly to the bars, tapping them quickly before putting any substantial weight on them.

"What do you see?"

Daniel slowly scanned the premises. "Lots and lots of rock."

"Rock?"

"Yep." Daniel turned toward him. "Granite, or something of similar composition."

"Fantastic." O'Neill stood with surprising ease. Apparently the effects of whatever hit them were wearing off with greater speed. He strode over to the gate and wrapped his fingers around two of the bars. He pulled them inward, testing their resiliency, and was met with a low, sharp jolt of electricity. Yelping, he leapt back from the gate. Looking up at Daniel, he pointed to the bars.

"Electricity!"

Daniel had the decency to looked slightly abashed. "Apparently."

Glowering at Daniel, O'Neill turned his palms upward, inspecting them for injury. Finding none, he shook his hands briskly at his sides. "Did you see any guards, people, signs of intelligent life?"

Daniel shook his head. "Nope. I don't even think there are any more cells in the vicinity. This seems to be the only one." His met O'Neill's gaze, concern washing his eyes. "What do you think they did with Sam?"

O'Neill looked out into their captor's hallway and swallowed hard, his professional detachment firmly in place. "I don't know. She might not have made it through the gate. And if she did, maybe she got back to base in time to avoid being captured."

Daniel nodded and followed O'Neill's gaze. "Yeah, maybe."

He did not sound convinced.

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O'Neill awoke several hours later to hushed whispers. He blinked open his eyes and saw Daniel huddled on the ground by the gate in the corner. "Daniel? Wha…?" Light scuffling ensued followed by Daniel's quiet reassurances.

"No, no. It's all right. It's okay. He's a friend." The doctor was focused on something in the hallway, something that apparently O'Neill's movement had frightened.

O'Neill sat up. "Daniel, who are you talking to?"

Daniel turned to him and said, "Jack, this is Ra'ho."

The colonel was now on his feet peering over Daniel's shoulder. Huddled by the outside corner of the cell was a small boy, not more than ten years old. Clothed in rough dark cloth and topped with a long, ragged mop of dark brown hair, the boy looked up at him with large brown eyes and shyly bowed his head.

Daniel continued, "He brought us this," indicating to a small parcel wrapped in a large cloth. Opening it, O'Neill found a loaf of dense bread and a flask of water.

"Cool," he said, looking at the provisions. Turning to the boy, he smiled slightly, lowering himself to the balls of his feet. "Thanks, kid." Ra'ho returned the smile, his eyes gleaming now, and again bowed slightly to O'Neill. He looked at Daniel. "How long you been chatting?"

"Probably about twenty minutes. I had just woken up when he came with the package."

O'Neill shifted, lowering his voice. "Did he tell you anything about Carter?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "I was just about to ask him." He turned his attention back to Ra'Ho. Gesticulating to clarify his foreign tongue to the boy, he asked him, "The other one?" Daniel pointed to himself, then to O'Neill, and finally to a vacant spot beside the colonel before shrugging his shoulders slightly, his face a question.

Ra'ho looked quickly at the floor and eventually, reluctantly nodded. "Malkna," he whispered, his voice heavy and quite sad. The boy's eyes met Daniel's again and this time they were edged with tears, a gaze that caused Daniel's stomach to fold over into tight knots. The boy spoke again. "Malkna proeri toi mukanu."

Daniel held up his hands. "Whoa. Slow down."

O'Neill, impatient, whispered, "What was that?"

"I have no idea. I've never encountered this language before. It's not derived from anything of Earth origin as far as I can tell." He turned back to the boy. "Malkna?"

Ro'ha nodded. "Malkna. Malkna proeri toi mukanu," he said and then looked hard at Daniel. Seeing Daniel's lack of comprehension, the boy sighed and pursed his lips, thinking. Then, haltingly, as if speaking words that he had only heard once before, he whispered, "Alea iacta est."

Daniel's eyebrows furrowed and he began muttering to himself, his eyes suddenly glazed over.

O'Neill sighed, his frustration evident. "Daniel," he whispered harshly.

Daniel looked over at him. "The die is cast."

"What?"

The doctor glanced sidelong at the boy, "Alea iacta est. The die is cast. It's Latin, but I don't know what it has to do with anything."

"Malkna proeri toi mukanu," the boy repeated with increased enthusiasm.

"Yeah, you said that," Daniel replied. "But I don—." He was interrupted by the sound of a gate opening, a weighty latch being lifted. Heavy footfalls echoed down the corridor, and a whispered string of a foreign tongue rambled from the small boy's lips. Daniel looked at Ra'ho who was staring wide-eyed down the hallway.

"Malkna," the boy whispered and hastily scurried out of sight.

Both Daniel and O'Neill focused on the uniform march headed towards them. The footsteps grew steadily closer until six heavily armed guards stood outside their cell. The most decorated and highest ranking man spoke something unintelligible and thrust his palm at the prisoners. The result was instantaneous. O'Neill and Daniel flew backwards against the far wall and fell to the ground in two bedraggled heaps. The captain swiftly opened the gate and stepped aside to allow two of his men to deposit the guards' burden. With tenderness belying their bulk, they gingerly laid the naked, breathing body on the section of floor where the straw was the thickest, the most comfortable. After bowing slightly to the most recent of the imprisoned, they took their leave, the captain closing the gate and locking it securely behind them.

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Gradually consciousness seeped back to O'Neill, filling him with numbed awareness. Recalling his last encounter with this race, he pried his eyes open, hesitantly at first; when no pain met his movement, he sat up and shook his head lightly from side to side. "I really hate that thing," he muttered. He caught sight of a glistening white body laying where Daniel had been attempting to speak with Ra'ho; his heart quickened and his brain was overrun by the excruciating pressure of his pulse. Promptly his feet were under him and he crossed the cell in three strides, falling heavily to his knees beside the body, naked and sallow in the dim light.

"Carter," he breathed. "God…" Her hair hung matted against her face and fingerprint bruises dotted her arms and torso, their surfaces raised and colors deepening. Pressing his fingers to the base of her neck, he noted her pulse steady, yet a bit weak. He watched her chest rise and fall in shallow, rapid succession and bent an ear over her mouth to listen for abnormalities. There were none and he thanked the heavens for it. Now that he was relatively certain that she was no longer in immediate danger, anger frothed in the pit of his stomach and wound itself tightly around his chest.

"Oh, God…" Daniel was awake and kneeling next to him. His mouth opened again, but words refused escape. He scanned the bruises on Carter's body while O'Neill whipped the large cloth from around their provisions, sending the loaf and cask flying. The colonel was about to cover her nakedness with the fabric when Daniel stopped him. "Jack...?" Daniel was peering between Carter's upper thighs, his face slackened, his eyes bitterly cold.

_No…_ he thought distantly as his brain quickly calculated the result of the contusions, her state of undress, and Daniel's reaction, his eyes closing painfully as the answer filtered down through his consciousness and into undeniable reality. Daniel moved over as O'Neill advanced and stooped beside him, his jaw and fists tightening as his eyes confirmed what his brain had already deduced. Congealed blood clung to the skin of Carter's inner thighs, painting her porcelain skin a hideous reddish brown. Beyond the crusted fluids, her tissues were speckled with purple bruises, indicative of severe, forcible battering.

"Goddammit," O'Neill muttered, his eyes flashing dangerously as he forced his anger to the back of his throat and swallowed harshly. Shifting his focus back to her face, he covered her with the cloth, his fingers lingering on the cool skin of her cheekbone as his gaze softened, wavering in the dim light, and then gently scooped her into his arms.

Silently, his movements heavy with anger, Daniel followed him to the back corner of their cell where the light was dimmest. After piling the surrounding straw into the rough size of a cot, he spotted Carter's head as O'Neill slowly lowered her onto the makeshift bed. They both elected to sit a respectful distance away, far enough from her that she would not be overwhelmed by their presence, but close enough to assure her of her safety.

Silence descended on the small room then, broken only occasionally by Carter's strained, shallow breaths.

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She lay still for about an hour during which Colonel O'Neill's eyes never broke their steady gaze on her face, his own taunt with rage. When Carter's eyebrows began to gently furrow, O'Neill sat up, pulling his body away from the wall and into Carter's immediate line of sight. Soft mumbling emanated from her throat, her head shifting slightly towards O'Neill.

"No…"

Daniel glanced at his compatriot, whose jaw was set in a hard line, his fists clenched. The doctor did not blame him and acknowledged the new spring of rage that erupted deep inside his belly.

She woke with a start then, her eyes wide and frantic, her body tensing and immediately compacting itself into a small, defensive semi-circle as her breathing became heavy and labored.

O'Neill shifted slowly from the wall, his hands outstretched and his palms facing her. "Easy, Carter. Easy. It's all right. You're safe," he said soothingly, his voice low.

Her breathing slowed slightly as his voice registered. "S-sir?"

"That's right," he answered, smiling at her from a distance. "That's right. Daniel's here, too." Cocking his head towards the doctor, he watched her eyes dart nervously from him to the man sitting several feet away from the end of her bed and back again. "Is it all right if I come a bit closer?"

He heard her draw a deep breath, her exhalation tremulous and raspy, and then whisper, "Please…" as her hand emerged from the blankets and extended towards him, her fingers quaking uncontrollably. "…Jack…" Her voice cracked, the brightness of her eyes visible even in the dark swath encompassing her. In that moment, every rule, every regulation, every goddamned directive that had kept them professionally at bay for the past five years ceased in their importance and he could not get his arms around her fast enough. Pulling her trembling form across his lap, he held her tightly to his chest, assuring her silently of her security as tearless sobs mercilessly racked her broken body.

God, he could kill. Holding her as she shook hysterically, her professional decorum forgotten, her training obsolete—damn them. Damn the mission.

He could fucking kill.

After she had calmed many long minutes later, her fingers still entrenched in the fabric of his jacket, she whispered, "They'll come again tomorrow."

His arms tightened around her. "We won't let them take you again, Sam."

"You have to."

Eyes widening in disbelief, he looked at her askance. "What?"

She closed her eyes, her chest expanding with the force of a thousand breaths. Looking up at him, her eyes set firmly against his impending protests, she whispered fiercely, "You have to let them take me."

O'Neill's mouth dropped open as his eyes narrowed, his head shaking quickly back and forth. "There is no way I'm just going to sit here and let them ra—"

"Colonel," she said firmly, the strength of her tone catching him off-guard. Taking his face tightly in hand, her eyes burrowing into his with the weight of her severity, she said, "You don't have a choice. If you try and stop them, they'll kill you. If you try and rescue me, they'll kill you. Either way you're dead." Her eyebrow arched as she continued quietly, her tone still quite stern, "And there's no way in hell I am losing you over this."

He stared at her, unable to fathom her reasoning. They had gotten out of supposedly hopeless situations before; how was this any different? "Sam, I--"

But she cut him off. "Promise me that you will not try anything unless Hammond sends reinforcements. They'll let us go as soon as this is all over."

His brow arched at her words. "They told you that?"

"They made it apparent, yes."

He narrowed his eyes, his incredulousness tangible. "And you _believed_ them?"

She sighed, her frustration increasing as the seconds ticked by. "Yes. I believe them. They don't care what happens afterwards just so long as we cooperate **now**." The severity in her eyes lessened then only to be augmented by an equal measure of desperation. "Please, Jack," she whispered, her eyes pleading with him. "_Please_ promise me."

Suddenly his head was too heavy for his neck to bear its weight any longer and it fell to his chest as his eyes slid tightly closed. She knew exactly what she was asking of him, and knew also that he would despise every moment of his helplessness. _You don't have a choice…_ Dammit, he thought, there's always a choice. But looking back into the frantic, glistening eyes of his second in command, the woman with whom he was so desperately in love, he knew his choice. His choice was to trust her judgment, to trust _her_.

Silently and with decided reluctance, he nodded. "I promise," he whispered. "But when Hammond sends reinforcements, I'm going to kill every bastard who stands in my way."

She smiled softly. "I know."

Tightening his embrace, he allowed his head to fall back against the wall as she carefully rested her head on his shoulder, drinking in his blessed scent, rich in its warmth and security. Moments later, despite her troubled thoughts and intense dread of the day to come, she began to gradually succumb to the tainted delusions of sleep.

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They awoke to footfalls echoing down the corridor. Instinctively, O'Neill clutched Carter closer to his chest, knowledgeable of the coming fate, yet unwilling to give her up to it.

"Colonel," she whispered, her body tensing incrementally as the guards approached their cell. "You promised…"

His jaw tightened as the import of his promise grew all too apparent as the guards came into view and stood like looming, emotionless drones just beyond the bars. The largest one, bearing the decorations of a higher rank, began to lift his hand, an action that would result in their incapacitation.

"No, wait!" The plea tore from Carter's throat before she even thought to voice it. Turning firm, steady eyes towards O'Neill, she quietly ordered, "Help me up." His eyes closed painfully and a deep sigh tumbled from his lips, but he complied with her demand and helped her to her feet, his fingers tightening around hers before they released her to her fate.

Grimacing, she traveled the length of the cell alone, her steps uneven and deliberate, each one driving a gruesome jolt of pain deep into her lower belly. As she came to the gate, she released the fabric from around her body and allowed it to fall to a puddle at her feet before exiting the chamber and taking her place in the center of the six guards. They turned towards her and bowed slightly before turning back down the corridor at the pace the Malkna set.

O'Neill watched her retreating figure, his face flickering in time with the anguish lapping bitterly in his throat. This was worse than defeat, he thought. Calling to mind Carter's insistence last night, her desperation that bound him to his helplessness, he added, mournfully watching her limping figure fade from view, _This is much, **much** worse than death._

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The attendant gently cleansed the dried discharge from between her legs, the oil soothing and warm against her battered flesh, and she struggled against the urge to break away from them, to fly back to the stargate, far away from this god-forsaken planet. But she did not. She knew what would befall Daniel and Jack should she choose disobedience. That had been made quite clear yesterday after she broke the jaw of one of the guards and attempted to escape.

The attendant's warm hands slipped behind Carter's shoulders and supported her as she slid off of the bed and onto the floor. The young girl seemed surprised that this Malkna required little assistance from her apart from rising initially.

"Malkna."

Carter turned slowly, her stomach suddenly filled with violent dread coupled with fear as the captain stood in the doorway, his arm indicating to the door across from them. She bowed her head slightly and led him into the room that would delude her waking dreams for many years to come.

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She lay in the middle of a stone slab, her wrists and ankles bound to the corners by steel cuffs secured to the altar by thick linked chain. The muscles in her arms and legs had given out long ago, followed closely by the remaining pairs. Eyes unfocused and pulse thready, she did not hear the final man cry out,

_Malkna proeri toi mukanu!  
Da'Ni'I rekipce roi extanui!  
Malkna rekipci roi traegnasiu!  
Da'Ni'I libate rai aug expre!  
_

_Malkna you stand condemned!  
Da'Ni'I hear my plea!  
Malkna receive my sin!  
Da'Ni'I release me from death!_

And neither did she feel him drive his sin into the bloodied folds of her body.

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This time when Daniel and O'Neill heard the guard's footsteps falling towards their chamber, they made certain that they were standing against the back wall when the six men appeared. The captain smiled slightly when he saw their sign of submission and allowed two guards access to the cell, one to carry Carter and the other to keep a weapon trained on the two men. They placed her still body on the makeshift cot that O'Neill had reconstructed earlier in the day in an attempt to reign his growing sense of helplessness, bowed slightly to her bruised body, and left them. Only after the gate was secured and the guards were out of earshot did either of the men dare move.

O'Neill began to cover Carter's body with the cloth, but not before noting the purple-green swells over her breasts and hipbones.

"Daniel!" Ra'ho beckoned from his customary corner. The boy held a small bucket and a handful of old, discarded cloth; he smiled at Daniel triumphantly as the man walked over and shoved the articles through the bars. Ice chips glistened from the depths of the bucket, tiny bits of sawdust clinging to their smooth, melting edges. "Malkna," the boy said, pointing first to the bucket and then to Carter's still body.

Daniel smiled at the young boy and bowed. "Thank you, Ra'ho."

The boy brightened slightly, and returned the bow before scampering off.

Daniel brought the supplies to Carter's side and quickly began constructing ice packs for her wounds, handing them to O'Neill upon their completion. The colonel hesitantly lifted the fabric away from Carter's body and gently placed one of the lighter packs on the swell of Carter's right breast.

The sudden shock of the ice hitting her skin startled Carter into consciousness, but before she could speak, her lungs seized in a violent coughing fit. O'Neill dropped the ice pack and slipped his arm underneath her shoulders, elevating her torso.

"Daniel, grab the flask." Instantly, it was in O'Neill's hand, the unscrewed top dangling down the side. He waited for her coughing to subside enough to enable her to drink safely and tipped the flask to her lips. She drank deeply from the stream of water, cherishing the cool, cleansing sensation coursing down her throat and settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Whoa, Sam," O'Neill warned. "Slow down. Too much and you'll make yourself sick." He frowned when she failed to respond to his gentle reproach. "Sam?" He craned his neck around and tried to catch her gaze. Her large eyes, once bright and sparking with fervor, were now dull and unfocused, her pupils unnaturally dilated until only slivers of blue remained.

O'Neill looked deeply into her eyes, trying to discern any sign of her customary spark. He could not, but that did not mean it was not still present. "Sam," he whispered firmly. "Sam, come on. Come back. _Samantha_." He began to gently stroke her face, attempting to lure her back into time with them. "Come on. Sam. Please. This is kind of freaking me out, here."

A small groan escaped Carter's throat and her eyes fluttered briefly. She blinked several times before focusing on O'Neill's eyes. He smiled down at her. "There you are."

She smiled painfully back at him.

A flash of brown caught O'Neill's eye. Ra'ho was crouched by the gate, apparently waiting for Daniel. O'Neill indicated to the boy with a quick jerk of his head and mouthed "water" to Daniel. As the doctor strode over to the corner, O'Neill turned his attention back to Cater, too late, apparently, to stop her from drifting off once again. He again clasped the sides of her face in his hands and ran his thumbs across her cheeks.

"Sam, come back. I'm right here. You're safe. Talk to me, Sam. Come on."

Her eyes widened momentarily before she blinked several times and gently shook her head.

"There ya go," O'Neill whispered. "Stay with me, Sam, all right?"

She nodded absently, still not making eye contact with him.

"Sam, look at me," he said, his voice firm. Her eyes did not move. He took her head more firmly in his hands and gently guided her face towards him so that their eyes were perfectly aligned. "_Samantha_. Look at me. Please." Slowly, her eyes, unfocused and bleary, met his; he could see her attempting to focus on him, but not quite being able to do so. "That's all right, Sam. Just keep trying okay? Stay with me. You're safe right now. You're wi—"

"No," she whispered.

"No?" he asked, his brow creasing slightly.

Her face contorted then, anguished and pained, her eyes closing once again, her face turning away from him. "No…" She continued to whisper the word over and over again, shifting out of his arms and away from him until her nose lay only centimeters away from the wall.

O'Neill moved towards her, and gently brushed the hair away from her face. "No what, Sam?"

She did not acknowledge him, and appeared caught up again in her mantra and the events playing out across the canvas of her mind, her voice growing increasingly louder with each passing moment. Struggling against the confining fabric, she sharply disentangled her arms and pushed his hand away from her head. "No," she cried, her voice crackling with unshed tears.

Suddenly her fist pounded into the biting surface of the wall, the small, sharp crystals gouging the flesh of her hand. She drew in a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, the mantra gone. Slowly she opened her hand and pressed her palm against the wall, reveling in its texture and intrigued by the sensation it caused across the expanse of her skin.

O'Neill watched her carefully, more than a little apprehensive about this new fascination. When he saw the muscles in her upper arm flex as she drug her hand across the rock, he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and removed her hand from the wall. Blood filled hairline cuts across the inside of her hand; he winced for her who seemed unable to comprehend what she had just done.

"Sam, no. Look over this way. Look at me." This time Carter appeared to hear him and followed the sound of his voice until he was able to see her eyes. He smiled slightly. "Hey there. Try to focus on me, Sam. I know it's hard, but try."

She drew a ragged breath and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, they held a new determination, a spark that was not present before. His hand brushed away a stray lock of her hair and came to rest with his fingers curled around her neck, her jaw encased in his palm.

And then she was present; quickly and steadfastly, Carter stared up unto his eyes, her own shadowed by exhaustion and sorrow. But they were hers—unmistakably, beautifully hers. He smiled in relief, thankful to have her with him again. Carter's face relaxed slightly when she saw him, and she allowed her head to loll over into the warmth of his hand.

"What was that?" He asked her quietly.

She shook her head slightly, unable to summon the energy to think, let alone form words.

He nodded. "Tell me later."

She nodded, shifting her face deeper into the palm of his hand.

Slowly, he let go of her jaw and snaked his arms underneath her body. Lifting her easily, he settled her again into his lap, cradling her body delicately and searching for any signs of her discomfort. Detecting none, he wrapped his arms around her, clutching her close to his chest. In the stillness of the cell, he was able to feel her heart beating, clear and strong, and undeniably alive. Gazing down at her still form deeply blanketed by shadow, he silently swore to her that she would survive P3X-275. He was unsure of the formula, but of the result, he was certain: Carter would return home—and these people would _not_ be her undoing.

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Days passed, the three members of SG-1 oblivious to the actual number, yet caring little for it. Guards came every morning to collect their Malkna and returned her at varying times throughout the afternoon and early evening. At least, O'Neill assumed it was the afternoon or early evening—he had no way to be certain. Carter's condition steadily worsened and she eventually refused the refuge that O'Neill had supplied her with since their arrival.

"No," she whispered through lightly clenched teeth as O'Neill began to slide his arm beneath her neck. Resting her hand delicately on his shoulder, her muscles visibly trembling with the effort, she continued, her words half-swallowed in pain. "Please, Jack. Don't…" Her eyelids slid closed then, and her arm fell freely against his chest. Taking her hand in his, he brushed his lips faintly across the back of her fingers. He draped his other arm carefully above her head and lay down next to her, her warmth melding easily with his. Beneath her skin's abhorrent odor of caked sweat and semen simmered her own unique scent, only faintly discernable now.

_Sleep well, Sam_, he thought, gazing at her unabashedly in the dim light. _At least they haven't yet taken that from you._

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"Malkna?"

Daniel glanced over his shoulder into the shaded corner presently concealing both Carter and O'Neill. "Not good," he told Ra'ho, furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head.

The boy grew very quiet and stared openly into the corner. "She die," he said finally, his tone solemn and tinged with bitterness.

Daniel's eyes grew wide as he considered the implications of his broken English. As far as he could tell, the sentence had one of two meanings. One, Carter was near death or two, these people were intent on killing her. Needing clarification, Daniel shook his head. "No," he said firmly and narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy's reaction.

Ra'ho's eyes darkened and he stared at the floor as his head slowly moved up and down. _Yes,_ he was saying. _Yes she will die._

"Oh, **not** an option," he muttered, his brain clicking rapidly as he sorted through their very limited resources. Suddenly, he glanced up at the boy, cursing for the umpteenth time the communication barriers separating them. "Ra'ho," he said, his voice deliberately pleading, fully aware that emotion was universal, even if language was not. "Help Malkna. _Help **us**_."

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Two pairs of hands jolted Carter harshly into wakefulness causing her to gasp audibly, both out of shock and sheer pain. Cold infiltrated her limbs as the fabric was torn from her body and long, muscled arms lifted her from her resting place. They had come to take her again, their strength and knowledge of her weaknesses rendering her core substance, augmented by her years of training, obsolete. Never had she experienced this degree of vulnerability or despondence of this blinding intensity. Her only comfort that they had yet to strip from her was Jack's continued existence.

They had assured her that if she cooperated with them and fulfilled the obligations bound to her by their spiritual writings that they would allow Jack and Daniel to return home unharmed. If the ceremony was fulfilled in its entirety, she would accompany them as well, but as a body only. The ritual demanded that the blood of the Malkna be sprinkled over the heads of the penitent, thereby cleansing them of their transgressions in this life and into the next. The Malkna, according to their spiritual teachings, was condemned to an afterlife of sorrow—the word literally meant "the sorrowed one." While she did not desire an eternity of sorrow, she did not fear it; and if Jack's life would be spared by her sacrifice, so be it. He would never know the underlying reason for his release and, therefore, would be pardoned from that agony.

Glancing over at Jack's face, drawn with fatigue and rounded out by dark stubble, she smiled inwardly. Yes, he would go on. That was enough.

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"I'm damn sick of this."

"Of what?"

O'Neill sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "Of this, Daniel. The whole blasted situation." Stillness overcame him then, but Daniel could see that O'Neill's mind was still churning through the implications of his last statement. An anguished cry tore from the colonel's throat; before Daniel could do anything, he had curled his fist and thrown a hard jab at the wall. The impact audibly echoed through O'Neill's bones, though he did not seem to notice. Crumpling to the floor, O'Neill buried his face in his hands, feeling as if the world had turned suddenly and grown silent. "I hate being so damned helpless."

Daniel moistened his lips. "We're, uh, not entirely helpless, Jack."

O'Neill looked up at him, his eyebrow arched. "What are you talking about?"

Traversing the cell in two quick strides, Daniel sat down beside the colonel, weighing his next words carefully. "We have a friend," he said at last.

--------------------------------------

"Incoming wormhole," the sergeant called. Turning to the general, he said, "It's from P3X-275, sir."

Hammond glanced down at the screen. "SG-12? They aren't due back for two hours yet."

Johnson looked up at him, his widened eyes belying his calm demeanor. "It's SG-1's IDC, sir."

Hammond's gaze snapped directly to the stargate. "Open the iris." The team had been due back six days ago; he had sent teams to search for them, but thus far all rescue efforts had been unsuccessful.

The Lieutenant nodded and began entering the access sequence. "Yes, sir."

The horizon billowed before them and then eased into quiet ripples. A stunned hush descended upon the room as a small boy, clad in a rough tunic and crowned with thick brown hair, fell through the portal and landed on the platform with a low thud. Quickly finding his feet, the boy faced the confused onlookers, a small circle of material and a metallic string clenched in one hand, and nervously cleared his throat. "H-Hammond?"

Hammond entered the deck in a matter of seconds and approached the boy. "I am Hammond," he said. "And who are you?"

The boy ignored the train of strange words and said simply, "Sam," his eyes obviously troubled and quite desperate. Thrusting the articles towards the general, he added, "Daniel say come now. Follow."

Hammond looked at the objects in his hand—Carter's SGC badge and her dog tags, both bearing traces of blood—Carter's apparently. Glancing quickly from the boy to the control room, Hammond barked, "Johnson, send a message to SG-12. Tell them to meet this boy and teams 3, 6, and 7 at the Stargate in ten minutes." Hammond turned Carter's badge over in his hand several times before meeting the boy's eyes. "I hope we're not too late."

--------------------------------------

Penitents lined the walls of the Passing Room each clothed in a simple shift covering their naked bodies, their heads bowed in muttered prayer. Quiet cascaded over the room as the doors opened to reveal the Malkna cradled in the arms of her chief guardian. Heads bobbed lower in respect as her body passed each one in turn. The guardian laid the Malkna on the smooth stone table and fastened her restraints, chanting,

_Malkna etali ke respicai  
Toi etali wota amblati notai  
Tae magni maganti rui libatei  
Malkna, hui rekipei rui traegnasui_

_Malkna be forever cherished  
You will forever walk in night  
Your power great to free us  
Malkna, now take from us our sin._

Carter felt the weight of the shackles encase her wrists and ankles and willed herself into the narrow space of dreams, readily accepting the numbness that accompanied her delusion. Each muscle loosened in turn, causing her extremities to lay lifeless across the expanse of the table. Slowly she began to descend into conscious unawareness, her mind trekking farther and father away from her body's confines and resultant anguish. It simply was not safe to remain integrated any longer. She would stay here, tucked comfortably between states, in limbo, as the case may be, until it was deemed safe again on the outside.

Yes.

That is exactly what she would do.

------------------------------------------

"Why didn't you tell me that you sent Ra'ho through the gate!" O'Neill's eyes flared brightly, his irritation palpable.

"Uh, well, because he left twenty minutes ago, right before they came for Sam. You weren't in the mood to talk," Daniel pointed out.

O'Neill sighed, conceding his point. "You explained the GDO to him?"

Daniel nodded. "I wrote the address and the IDC down for him with a charred stick on a scrap of cloth he brought me." He smiled dryly. "As long as he doesn't get caught in a downpour, he should be all right."

Grunting slightly at the man's attempt at humor, O'Neill refused to let himself grow too hopeful at the prospect of reinforcements. A ten-year-old alien gating to Earth with only stolen articles as evidence of his credibility…he was not sure the general would buy it. But, then, SG-1 had used such methods of communication before. The delicate pattering of light footfalls descending the corridor beckoned to his attentions then. His heart quickening in anticipation, he muttered, "That ain't the six ugly giants…"

In a matter of seconds Teal'C, Ra'ho, and four other heavily armed officers stood outside their cell. The two prisoners leapt to their feet and stood several feet behind the grate as they grinned down at the beaming boy standing next to Teal'C.

"Way to go, kid," O'Neill enthused. Turning his attention to Teal'C, he said, "Good to see ya, buddy. Now get us the hell out of here."

"Step back," he said as he aimed his staff directly above the cell. After O'Neill and Daniel had cleared a suitable distance, he fired once, sparks spurting in the wake of the blast and cascading rapidly down the front of the enclosure. After a few seconds, the gate shook briefly and then fell open, their way cleared for immediate escape.

Teal'C tossed O'Neill a zat gun as the man emerged from the cell, stepping carefully across the field of the downed gate. He glanced at Ra'ho, the boys eyes wide as he beheld the disabled console, and, after tapping him briefly on the shoulder, O'Neill pointed down the corridor. "Lead the way, kid."

As the boy looked into the man's dark eyes and detected the faintest traces of his bridled anguish and haunted desperation, he understood his intent perfectly. Without a single glance back, he took off down the hall at a brisk trot, intent on leading them to the Passing Room, and knowing for certain that the others were close behind.

Q'taer muttered an interminable string of repentant pleas in preparation of his eternal soul for the passing of his transgressions into the Malkna. The stone pressed coldly against the soles of his bare feet as he advanced towards the center altar. He must not look at her until he called upon Da'Ni'I to accept this, his Passing, as a sign of his belief and devotion to The Way. Lifting his face towards Da'Ni'I listening from the heavens, his eyes still closed, he called out,

_Malkna proeri toi mukanu!  
Da'Ni'I rekipce roi extanui!  
Malkna rekipci roi traegnasiu!  
Da'Ni'I libate rai aug expre!_

As he untied his shift, he prepared to expunge himself of his iniquities according to the ancient custom of his people. Deftly climbing the four short steps that rose to the Malkna's body, he allowed himself finally to inspect her culpable form. As his eyes freely roamed the body, he witnessed the manifestation of amalgamated sins. Bruises covered her skin in large purplish-green masses; blood and semen stained her hips and upper thighs, apparently rubbed into her flesh by the preceding penitents. Her face was turned from him, disallowing his appraisal of her features, but that did not matter. Her possession of beauty or her lack thereof had no bearing on his spiritual awakening. He had merely to give her the sins of his body. Kneeling before her, he ran his hands firmly over the Malkna's cold, moist flesh, his eyes slipping closed as he prepared to begin his act of Passing.

The Malkna's body rocked steadily back and forth beneath his own, her head lolling against her own shoulder as Q'taer forced his transgressions into the depths of her inner sanctum. In his desperation to purify himself, his thrusts rapidly gained intensity and strength, the shackles binding the Malkna's ankles straining against the force of his rhythm. Impulsively, he took one of her bruised breasts into his mouth and sank his teeth into her delicate flesh causing spurts of blood to flow across his tongue and down onto the Malkna's abdomen.

Suddenly, the room's reverberation of gentle murmuring was overcome by thunderous, livid cries. Unable to help his surprise, Q'taer's head snapped up, the Malkna's breast sinking back against her body. Blinding pain coursed through the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones right before the room grew dark and silent. He did not feel his body strike the ground. He did not see the intruders open fire on his people; nor did he see a dark, stone-faced man destroy the Malkna's shackles in a single, mighty stroke; he did not see the Malkna being raised gingerly into the arms of another, her lifeless body sagging against the stranger's chest. As suddenly as they appeared, the soldiers vanished, apparently having stolen away with their designated objective.

Outside, the sirens tolled, announcing the dearth of their most precious idol. Guards streamed out of the building in response to the city-wide distress issue. They knew the invaders' target and knew also that the Malkna must not—would not—leave the planet in their company.

After Ra'ho had led them to the Passing Room, O'Neill ordered his team into action. The plan had been simple:

"Daniel, get that gate open as soon as you see the first man coming. We may have a lot of very angry, very large men on our asses. The rest of you, rush the doors and lay down cover fire while Teal'C and I retrieve Carter. As soon as we're out, turn around and run like hell to the stargate. Go through it when you get there. Don't wait for me or anyone else. Questions?"

Hearing none, O'Neill nodded once. "Let's do this."

The doors opened readily, fierce determination driving the blow the soldiers delivered to its ornate face. The force with which the doors swung open knocked four guards off of their feet and into the line of waiting transgressors. Taking advantage of the upheaval, O'Neill raced towards the altar in the middle of the room upon which a man lay violently ravishing Carter sprawled beneath him, her left breast dripping with blood. All of the frustration and rage that had amassed inside of him over the past few days fueled O'Neill's single strike to the bridge of her attacker's nose; his eyes were open and blood trickled from his nostrils as his body fell lifelessly to the ground.

Metal links shrieked apart behind him and he saw all of Carter's binds slacken at once. Teal'C grabbed one end of the broken chain in one hand and pulled it through the eyes stationed around the table, allowing Carter's wrists and ankles, though still encased by the cuffs, freedom from their confines. Wasting no time, O'Neill scooped her still body into his arms and sprinted quickly from the room. The entire ordeal lasted less than fifteen seconds.

In a short time, the structure was a far distance behind them, but the faint cries of the city's guards grew steadily closer until blue bolts of energy surged around them, crashing into the ground surrounding the stargate. O'Neill watched as the members of his team ran through the horizon; Daniel grabbed a gun off of one of the fleeing officers and stooped behind a rock outcropping close to the foot of the stargate. He managed to pick off four of the guards closest to O'Neill and Teal'C before the pair reached the horizon. Without hesitation O'Neill stepped through with Carter clutched tightly to his body, his chest heaving in exhaustion.

"**_Close it!"_** he managed to cry through his gasping breaths. Immediately, the iris swirled shut behind them, the soft pattering of reintegrating molecules echoing throughout the room as several of the guards attempted to pursue them.

Janet greeted him as soon as he stepped onto the ramp of the SGC, an open blanket ready in her hands. Quickly covering Carter's bare body, her detachment firmly in place, she escorted O'Neill down the ramp and instructed him to place her on the gurney before ordering the medics to the infirmary, the woman's still form already being entangled in wires and tape.

O'Neill moved to follow her, but was stayed by General Hammond. "Let the doctor do her job first, Colonel." Glancing at rest of SG-1, he offered, "Welcome back," as he absorbed the depth of their disheartening. "I take it the mission did not go well, Colonel."

The man's back stiffened, his jaw tightening as he regarded the general with wild, vacant eyes. "No, sir," he answered, his voice soft and eerily steady. "It didn't. In fact, the term 'FUBAR' comes to mind."

Raising his eyebrows, he nodded crisply. "Debriefing now, gentlemen. I want to know what happened on that planet."

_No you don't, _O'Neill thought tiredly as he trudged out of the gate room. _**I** don't even want to know what happened on that planet._

--------------------------------------------

After hearing O'Neill's account of their experiences on P3X-275, Hammond immediately ordered the coordinates of the planet locked out of the system permanently. No words were spoken after Daniel recounted what little he had determined about the nature of the ceremony and what Carter's role had entailed. Finally, after tolerating a broad pastiche of emotion for several long minutes, O'Neill cleared his throat. "Permission to be dismissed, sir."

Hammond simply nodded, unable to speak as the implications of Daniel's words rumbled through his head.

O'Neill quietly expressed his thanks and quickly exited the room, turning immediately towards the infirmary. As he pushed the door aside with an impatient brush of his hand, the sight of Carter, still surrounded by medical personnel and swathed with wires, greeted him directly. He stared at her face—silent and horribly sallow—upturned in the bright, white brilliance of the medical lamps. His conception of time altered then as he heard words and phrases such as "emergency surgery," "local anesthesia," blood and fluid loss," and, finally, "severe hemorrhaging." People began moving slower and more deliberately, or, at least, he imagined they did. Then a light weight alighted on the back of his upper arm.

"Sir?" Was that Janet? Perhaps, but the voice reverberated in his ears laden with tiny scratches, as if it had been rubbed across the surface of coarse sand. "Sir? Colonel?" Yes, that was definitely Janet. Slowly, the world came back into focus and the activities around him resumed their previous rapidity. "Jack?" the doctor repeated for a fourth time, concern edging her tone.

"Yeah?" he answered tiredly. "What is it, doc?" Suddenly, the information he came specifically to acquire, he no longer desired. Instead, he longed to simply hold Carter, free from the complication of medical jargon, and allow her to just be, quiet and slowly breathing, as she had been in their cell on P3X-275.

Next to him, Janet's voice grew soft, her words uttered for him only. "I don't know for certain what happened down there, but considering the extent and placement of her injuries, I think I can make a pretty descent guess." She moistened her lips which had suddenly gone quite dry. "You can stay, watch from over there," she pointed to the far corner of the room; it was separated from Carter's bed by space only and if he angled himself correctly, he would have an excellent view of her face. Janet cleared her throat and continued, "Aside from the visible marks, Major Carter has also incurred moderate damage to her kidneys and liver, four broken and three bruised ribs, several bone fractures," the doctor drew a deep breath, "as well as severe trauma to the internal walls of her vagina. I've managed to stop the bleeding for now, but as soon as we get her fluids back up, I'm going to go in and butterfly the lining to make sure that the wounds don't reopen before they are given a chance to heal."

O'Neill grimly nodded, absorbing the information without a visible emotional flinch. "She's unconscious?"

"Yes, for the time being. I expect her wake up within the next few hours, but," she shook her head and looked mournfully up at him. "I can only diagnose and formulate a prognosis based on her physical injuries. I don't think I have to tell you that we're dealing with much deeper wounds."

He shook his head. "No, you don't," he said, remembering the tone of Carter's voice when she weakly but firmly asked not to be touched last night. Her fear had been readily apparent, followed also by her own disgust; O'Neill was not sure of the object of that last bit of her resentment, but he had an inkling that it had been directed both at her assaulters and at herself. It would not have surprised him in the least.

He stood watching Carter for quite some time after Janet returned to her medical duties. She allowed him to stay, a mask secured across his nose and mouth, while she performed minor surgery on Carter's abdomen. As Janet removed her gloves after completing the task, she walked over to him, the corners of her lips upturned slightly. "That went well. No complications. She's stabilized for the time being." Scrutinizing the haggard lines gouging his face and the hollows that sagged beneath his eyes, she added, "Perhaps you should get some rest, sir. I can page you if her condition changes."

He did not respond, at least not perceptibly. After a moment of silence, he muttered, "Can I have a few minutes with her?"

Janet smiled. "Take as long as you need."

"Thank you."

Janet disappeared into her office, most likely to start her report for General Hammond. O'Neill drew a deep, calming breath and slowly, very slowly, walked towards Carter's bedside. The bruises speckling her body had flourished into deep purples and greens, and had become even more pronounced on the ashen canvas of her skin. Perched on the stool beside her, O'Neill reached out a steady hand and gently brushed a few stray locks of hair away from her face.

Finally, secure in the knowledge of her physical stability, he allowed himself to bear the full weight of his own infinite sorrow; guilt endeavored to weave slowly into the flux as well, but he refused it, knowing that selfishness in this situation would serve no justifiable purpose.

Tears began their gentle descent down his cheeks as he ran the backs of his fingers delicately over her forehead before bringing his mouth close to her ear. "You are…everything," he whispered simply.

He brushed his lips against her temple, indifferent to the probability of onlookers. Passing his hand over her head one last time, he reluctantly turned from her and made his way towards his quarters. He had a feeling that Carter would not awaken within the next few hours as Janet has speculated; if he knew anything, he knew the effects of trauma on the human mind. No. He would consider both Carter and himself fortunate if she awoke within the next week.

--------------------------------------------

When O'Neill awoke several hours later, his exhaustion dulled to a faint gasp in the piths of his muscles, he headed immediately to the infirmary to be apprised on Carter's current status. In two hours, he and the remaining SG-1 members would be briefed on the immediate future of their team; he intended to be affixed to Carter's bedside for the interim.

Walking through the infirmary doorway, he noticed with a start that Carter's cot was nowhere in sight. He stopped a passing medical officer and inquired into the major's whereabouts, breathing an internal sigh of relief when she pointed to a curtained off corner. She informed him that Dr. Fraiser had ordered that Carter be moved to a more secluded area of the infirmary and given as much privacy as possible. Thanking the officer, he silently praised Janet for her foresight and started towards the white barrier. Dr. Fraiser was seated next to Carter, her back to him as she entered information into a device beside her patient. She turned as she heard his approach, smiling gently when she saw him.

Holding up his hands to stave off questions, he said, "I slept—no lectures."

Her eyebrow raised slightly in surprise. "Wow. You took my advice. I'm impressed, Colonel." Turning back to the machine, she asked, "How was your sleep?"

"Dead."

She spun around, shocked by his description. "What?"

"Dead. My sleep was dead." He sighed and settled onto the side of the Carter's cot, carefully avoiding jarring her unexpectedly. Staring at the wounds still festering on her face, upturned and unaware, he placed the tips of his fingers next to Carter's.

"She isn't in any pain right now, sir," Janet said, her voice soothing.

O'Neill did not move. "Not physically, no."

Fraiser sighed, her eyes dropping to stare into the palms of her hands, and searched for something helpful to add to the waning conversation. Finding nothing, she looked up at him, his eyes directed at the floor, fixed in a blank stare. Finally, she tentatively inquired, "How are _you_ doing?"

Air sped sharply from between his lips serving as Fraiser's first warning that she was treading on unstable ground. "Fine, Doctor." The flatness of his voice begged otherwise.

Fraiser, discontented with the colonel's dismissive reply, rounded the end of the bed and stood decidedly in front of her superior, her arms crossed over her lab coat and her eyebrow upraised in a severe arch of disbelief. "I find that hard to believe, sir."

O'Neill opened his mouth, ready to defend himself against Dr. Fraiser's prying inquiries, but realized that the extent of his exhaustion disallowed his typical stoicism. His head dropped slowly down to his chest as he admitted the truth in Dr. Fraiser's implications. "So do I."

He was silent for quite some time, staring blankly at his hand resting millimeters away from his second officer's. "This far and no farther." The remark tumbled from his lips quickly, too quickly, it seemed, for his mind to recognize that he had vocalized the thought. His fingers curled away from Carter's and his shoulders rounded as sorrow tied strongly to the tail of anger visibly washed over him with renewed force.

Fraiser leaned forward, her expression softened by the suddenness and heft of his admission. Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill shared a bond unlike any other she had witnessed during her years in the military. Of course she had seen the iron ties forged between soldiers during the heady hours of combat, but even they paled substantially against the strength and subtlety of that which existed between these two officers.

They were desperately in love, that much was certain. The respect with which they held each other was unsurpassable; the trust they instilled between the two of them was astronomical; and the passion they daily repressed was agonizing.

She reached down and gently plucked his hand from the bed, her eyes bright with sympathetic tears. "Sir," she began, hesitating slightly before delving full-force into the substance of five years worth of observation. "Sam will recover. Her body will heal and she will want to go back to work as soon as she is able. But, I'm certain that's not the best choice for her." She stilled his impending objection with a quick wave of her hand. "You've been through a lot in the past five years, the both of you, together. She will need you when she wakes up, even if she won't admit it. Give her time, sir." Fraiser drew a deep breath and tilted her head slightly. "Perhaps farther isn't as far as you might think." She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and then set it down, deliberately allowing his fingers to mesh with Carter's. "I'll be in my office if you need me," she said and then deftly brushed the curtain aside to make her exit.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, silently admitting that Fraiser might be correct in her assumption: Carter, once she awoke, would not be psychologically fit for duty. He did not see how anyone could be after going through an ordeal of that caliber. The memory of her quiet plea, _"Please, Jack, don't…"_ as he attempted to comfort her as he had the previous nights returned to him unexpectedly and consequently racked his body with an unquenchable rage. They had raped Carter to the brink of death for the sake of spiritual purity. The juxtaposition of the two concepts proved incomprehensible.

Slowly his rage soothed into an abiding hatred that throbbed painfully in the back of his throat. He rose stiffly from Carter's side and pulled up the chair that had been placed, probably by Dr. Fraiser, beside her cot. He rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers, leaning his forehead against the pads of his thumbs.

There had been nothing he could have done to stop them; logically, he knew that. Emotionally, however, was a different story. As long as he lived and whatever became of their relationship after this, he knew that he would never forget the sensation of drowning in his own helplessness. He had decided since then that out of all the feelings inherent to the human condition, helplessness remained the least pleasant. In fact, he despised it. He was, after all, the one who helped. If his actions were ever made public knowledge, he and the rest of SG-1 would go down in history as the ultimate do-gooders of all time. Do-gooders do not deal well with being dissuaded from doing good, especially if it is to the detriment of their most beloved.

_Perhaps farther isn't as far as you might think._ O'Neill mulled over Dr. Fraiser's comment as the tendrils of a migraine headache began to wrap themselves around his brain. _This is too much_, he thought bitterly. _Seriously, how much is one man supposed to take? _Bringing his eyes level with Carter's profile, he added, _How much can we be allowed to suffer before we're broken forever?_ He would not dare answer the question in quantifiable terms, but, if there was indeed an answer, he assumed that the battered woman lying before him was it.

----------------------------------------------------

"Dr. Fraiser, please report." General Hammond's typically gruff tone was subdued somewhat as he glanced at the doctor. He did not envy her impending duty, nor did he desire to hear of her findings.

Dr. Fraiser cleared her throat briefly while the remaining members of SG-1 mentally prepared themselves for what they were about to hear. "Yes, sir," she began, opening the folder in front of her. "Varying degrees of contusions and lacerations cover Major Carter's body, the worst of which damaged her kidneys and her liver. Both injuries are reparable and non-threatening given the proper care. I detected seven injured ribs, four broken and three bruised, along with several smaller stress fractures along her upper torso. These injuries, as well as…further severe internal damage, initially led me to believe that Major Carter had been the victim of a brutal sexual assault. I ordered multiple tests, all of which not only came back conclusive, but horrifying." Here Dr. Fraiser paused, visibly struggling to maintain her composure as she endeavored to inform the team of the test results she had received minutes before the meeting. "I found evidence of forty-seven different assaults, but that number is in no way conclusive. Without Major Carter's report, we have no way of knowing the precise number."

Silence, excruciatingly painful silence, lurched through the room incited by a veritable potpourri of overwhelming passion. Even Daniel seemed to be rendered speechless by Dr. Fraiser's report. After several grave moments, Colonel O'Neill spoke.

"Does the number really matter, sir?" Eyes blazing, he fixed Hammond with a flaming glare, his anger readily apparent.

Hammond closed his eyes, silently agreeing with the colonel's sentiment. "Not to me, but Washington's going to want a full and exact briefing."

O'Neill's eyes narrowed, fury fomenting just under his skin. "Would they be this interested if it had been just one son of a bitch that attacked her?" His question caused the other members of his team to turn to the general, curiosity and condemnation twitching in their features.

"Jack, I honestly don't know," he said calmly. Leaning forward, the passion behind his eyes evident, he stated, "I know you all are dealing with a hell of a lot right now, a lot of it things that people should not have to deal with. It's my opinion that as a result, your physical and emotional states have been compromised. For your sakes and the sake of the SGC, I'm ordering you all on stand-down. One month from now you will report back to base. I've consulted with Dr. Fraiser and she agrees with my decision." Turning to O'Neill, he emphasized, "Anyone who argues will be subject to disciplinary measures. Have I made myself clear?"

Affirmations resounded throughout the congregated.

"Sir, what about Sam?" Daniel asked.

At the general's request, Dr. Fraiser answered for him. "I have no way of knowing how long she will remain unconscious, but regardless Major Carter will remain on base until she is stable and well enough to leave." Glancing quickly at Colonel O'Neill she added, "We're not sure if she will be returning with you in a month."

"You will be informed should a replacement for Major Carter be necessary," Hammond gently informed them and then paused briefly. "Any questions?"

Silence.

"You're dismissed." After Daniel, Teal'C and Dr. Frasier had left the room, Hammond called O'Neill over to him. "Jack, I know that Major Carter means a lot to you and I want you to know that I'm doing everything I can for her." The general took in a long, deep breath before continuing. "But there's a chance that the psychological damage done to her on P3X-275 will disallow her further field work with the SGC."

The room began to gyrate around O'Neill as if it were a child's plaything; his fingers sunk into the upholstery of the nearest chair in an effort to steady himself. Hearing this information from Janet was one thing; hearing it from the lips of their superior was entirely different. "W-what are you saying, sir?" He stammered. "She's unconscious. You can't know what's going on in her head."

Hammond held up his hands to quell any further questions. "All I'm saying is that it's possible that she will not return to SG-1. I didn't say that she would be leaving the SGC permanently." The corner of his mouth rose gradually in a small half-smile. "Carter's not leaving this mountain, not while it's under my command. She's too valuable an officer to give up that easily."

O'Neill nodded, his jaw set in a grim, unmoving line. "Yes, sir."

"She's a fighter, Jack," he reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She'll get through this."

Again, O'Neill nodded. "Yes, sir."

Removing his hand from the colonel's shoulder, Hammond straightened slightly. "You're dismissed, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir."

General Hammond watched Colonel O'Neill's figure amble out of the room and down the hall towards the infirmary. Heaving a great sigh, he gathered his briefing materials and headed for his office. Major Carter **would **get through this, he thought. He had always known that her determination was steely, her resolve unbreakable, both required traits in a USAF officer of her status; but he silently prayed that when she did regain consciousness again that those qualities would not impede her recovery. Fraught suddenly with past recollections of similar situations, his eyes closed painfully and he leaned against the top of his desk. Major Carter was too valuable an officer, too brilliant a woman, to lose to the rage of madness.

------------------------------------------------------

Waves rippled around her ankles as a delicate breeze fingered its way through her hair, the long strands shimmering brilliant gold under the gaze of the mid-afternoon sun. Footprints, pooling with gentle tides heavy in their saltiness, lined the edge of the shore behind her. She was not certain how long she had been walking, or even why, only that she felt an overwhelming compulsion to maintain her pace. Unsure of her destination, but decidedly unconcerned about it, she kept moving, her longs legs, lean and strong against the gentle pull of the damp sand, ever propelling her forward. Though her purpose here, on the brink of the ocean, remained vague, a peace unlike none she had ever known swathed her in its radiant robes of comfort and safety. She was safe here, she felt certain of that. Here, no one could harm her or infiltrate her senses again.

…Again? What did she mean _again_? What had happened? The peace began to fade then, as the doubts began their measured descent into her mind. She shook her head, recklessly scattering the questions asunder. Nothing had happened. _Nothing had happened_, she silently repeated, her adamancy compelling her Self to believe the assertion in its entirety. Pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders to stave off the wind, she continued her nameless journey, leaving no trace of her presence, save a trail of footprints winding along the water's edge.

-------------------------------------------------------

Thankfully, the hallway to the infirmary was all but deserted, giving Daniel Jackson adequate space to immerse himself in thought while continuing his stride. Officially, he was on vacation and had been for the past nine god-damned days; officially, he was not supposed to be on base, but all of the officially's and regulations could go to hell as far as he was concerned. SG-1 had been planet-side for almost week and a half and, even though Dr. Fraiser had assured them that Carter's condition had been stabilized, she still had not regained consciousness. While not a medical doctor, he sensed the growing severity of his friend's condition.

_Vacation, my ass_, he thought. _I'll be damned if I'm going to vacate anything right now._ Thus far he had been "vacationing" in his lab on base, allowing him immediate access to Sam should her condition alter. According to a tacit agreement, he and O'Neill, who had also elected to remain on base, took turns watching over her, promising to alert the other immediately should she regain consciousness.

Stepping through the doorway of the infirmary, he strode over to Carter's small, curtained haven and quietly shifted the barrier surrounding her, allowing him view of—

"Jack," he said, checking the time with chagrin. "I should've known you'd be here. I'll leave." He began to turn away when O'Neill stopped him.

"Why? I smell that bad?"

Daniel's mouth rose in a tired half-smile. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything…"

The colonel waved him in. "Get in here." Rising from his chair, he offered it to Daniel. "Here," he said. "I've been sitting for awhile. I think my ass may start to mold itself to the chair if I don't move." After he stretched and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, O'Neill rounded the end of Carter's bed and stood over her, his form looming directly across the cot from Daniel.

Daniel took Carter's hand in his. "Any change?" His tone was hopeful, but O'Neill's darkened face promptly dashed his optimism.

"None." He closed his eyes and sighed. "But after what she went through down there, I don't blame her a bit."

Daniel's brow furrowed slightly at the colonel's implications. "You think she's choosing to remain comatose?"

"Like I said, I wouldn't doubt it."

The doctor leaned forward, his confusion evident. "I don't understand," he said. "Why would she do that? And how?"

"You know, Daniel," O'Neill said, nailing him with bemusement. "For an intellectual wahoo, you can be pretty stupid sometimes."

Daniel took the comment in stride. "Thank you, Jack."

"You're welcome."

"Answer my question."

O'Neill shifted, suddenly slightly uneasy. "Uh," he began. "Well, the mind is powerful. And after trauma, sometimes it just…shuts down. It can't handle the pressure, so it, I dunno…hibernates for awhile." Eyes glazed over, he muttered, "I've seen it before. I know what it looks like." Retreating into silence, O'Neill rested his head against the back wall.

"So…" Daniel paused briefly to give O'Neill the opportunity to add the needed addendum to his statement. None forthcoming, he prodded. "How do we unhibernate her mind?"

"I don't know if we can."

The admission hit Daniel square in the chest. "But I thought you said that you've seen this before," he protested.

"Yeah, I've _seen_ it," O'Neill replied, his tone crisp and his eyes flashing with recovered grief. "That doesn't mean I'm an expert on it. I'm not a psychologist, Daniel."

Daniel sighed. "Yeah, right, sorry." He gazed down at Carter, his eyes softening. Resting his hand on the crown of her head, this thumb brushing tenderly against her forehead, he said, "I just wish we had the medical equivalent of Dorothy's ruby slippers."

A smile flickered across O'Neill's face. "Me, too. But the Cowardly Lion couldn't have used them to send the kid home. She had to do it herself."

"Yeah." Daniel paused momentarily, mulling over the colonel's comment. "Jack, I thought you hated metaphors."

O'Neill shot him a withering glance. "I do. But the principle of the thing still stands."

"Ah, yes," the doctor answered, his eyebrows raised. "The principle." Turning back to Carter, his face darkened once more as he continued to run his thumb along the smoothness of her brow. "When you're ready, Sam," he whispered to her. Glancing up at O'Neill, he asked, "How long were the others out…hibernating?"

The Colonel squinted and released a heavy breath, his eyes focused over the top of Daniel's head as he recalled the events. "Uh, I'd say anywhere from a week to six months."

Daniel's eyes widened. "Six months!"

Nodding, O'Neill replied, "Yeah, he said it sucked big time."

"Well, yeah," the doctor answered, removing his hand from Carter's head. "I would think so." Silence filled the small enclosure then, each man tied to his own thoughts and sifting through his own heartache. Finally, Daniel whispered, his eyes, brimming with compassion, staring intently at Carter's bruised face, "Where do you think she is right now?"

O'Neill tracked Daniel's gaze, his eyes coming to rest on Carter's eyelids, swollen and red from her neglect. Grimacing against the involuntary memory, he recalled the distance, unfocused and hazy, that had taken residence in those same eyes on P3X-275. Unwilling to admit it at the time, he was now forced to retrospectively recognize the visual cues of Carter's deliberate detachment of her Self from her body. He has seen it before behind the eyes of tormented POW's and other victims of cruelty, but he never dared think that he would see it also in a passing, machinating glance from his second officer, from the woman he loved.

"Jack," Daniel said, his voice slicing through the colonel's musings. Knowing that the last thing his friend desired were inquiries regarding his own welfare, Daniel simply repeated his question. "Where do you think Sam is right now?"

O'Neill's eyes glassed over momentarily as he cleared his throat. Drawing a deep breath, he answered, "Safe." His eyes fell upon her once more, agony constricting his voice as he continued, "Very, very safe."

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The wind had died down substantially, manifesting itself only now and again in riveting gusts that coddled her legs in the soft, flowing material of her dress. Unaware of time and space, she kept her steady march along the shore that unfolded endlessly before her. She realized that her identity remained elusive, though her several efforts to unravel it had been half-hearted at best. But she should not try to recall her Self. Her Self had sent her here alone, in order to complete a task of utmost importance. Then she remembered—she remembered that she was here in order to forget and in order to accomplish that vacuity, she must keep walking. She must keep walking until the questions vanished, until there was no doubt, no reservation. She must keep walking until she had reached the end.

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"Okay, guys," Dr. Frasier said as she stepped through the curtains, clipboard in hand. "Party's over. The doctor's here." She stared at them expectantly, waiting for them to acknowledge her authority; when they did not move, she rolled her eyes and groaned. "Fine, you can stay. But you're going to have to move, Colonel." As O'Neill stepped aside to accommodate Dr. Fraiser, she muttered, "I told Hammond that putting you two on leave wouldn't get you off the base."

"Uh, no," Daniel answered.

Fraiser sighed. "You can leave her for awhile, you know. I will tell you when she wakes up." Her face brightened in a small smile as she glanced wistfully down at her friend. "Even if I didn't want to, I don't think I could contain my excitement."

"What ever happened to professional detachment, Doc?" O'Neill raised his eyebrows at her slightly.

Her smile faded, and was now etched with melancholy. "That flew out the window a long time ago, sir." Clearing her throat, she continued, "According to these readings, her condition remains unchanged." Her eyes downcast, she turned to O'Neill. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what else I can do for her."

The colonel shook his head. "It's okay, Doc. You've done enough." Looking down at his second officer, he said, his voice hushed, "It's up to her to meet us halfway."

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_I should go back_. The thought came to her abruptly, as if from the depths of a dream. _No. I-I…I need to go back._ Confusion settled in around her, obscuring her view in all directions. No longer able to decipher the route set before her, she spun around, sand flying out from under her feet. The wind picked up again and gusted around her body, ruffling her hair and calling further confusion around what little equilibrium she had retained. _I need to go back,_ the thought came again, its urgency undeniable. Unable to detect any recognizable point ahead of her, but certain, somehow, that it did not matter, she began to retrace her steps, slowly at first and then with greater alacrity as her assuredness grew. Closing her eyes against the wind's needles, she ran headlong into them, her arms outstretched like bones.

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O'Neill narrowed his eyes at the printouts Dr. Fraiser was displaying to him and Daniel. Try as he may to follow the doctor's explication of the readings, his mind would not wrap around the concepts and he eventually grew exhausted listening to what had become her incessant droning.

"Cut to the chase, Doc," he interrupted her as she spurted off some incomprehensible medical jargon. "So what you're saying is…?"

Fraiser glanced from O'Neill and back down to the charts. "I'm saying that Sam was traumatized to such a degree that her mind's reaction has been this coma she's been in."

"Yeah," Daniel said. "Jack was telling me about that. Some kind of psychological reaction to overwhelming negative stimuli."

"Those weren't my exact words, but, yeah, I said that."

"Well," said Fraiser, drawing a deep breath. "You were correct. Unfortunately, this means that I have no way of predicting when she will regain consciousness, or even if she will regain consciousness."

"Whoa, wait a second." Daniel held up his hands and fixed Fraiser with dubious eyes. "You're saying that she might just stay like this?" He asked her, his thumb thrust over his shoulder towards Carter's bed.

She nodded. "There have been some recorded cases of traumatized individuals slipping into a psychologically induced coma and never awakening, yes."

O'Neill shifted his feet and crossed his arms over his body. "What can we do to prevent that from happening?"

Fraiser hesitated, uncertain of her next few words. Quietly she said, "I'm not sure we can, sir."

"There has to be something we can do," Daniel began. "We can't just sit here and wa—"

A faint cough interrupted his impending diatribe. O'Neill wheeled around, his eyes widening. He knew that cough. Hell, he'd know her sneeze from across the room at an allergen convention. "Sam," he breathed, his stomach leaping into his throat as he crossed the distance between them in two quick strides, Fraiser and Daniel immediately behind him. Impatiently pushing the curtains aside, he rounded the end of the bed, his eyes intent on her face, contorted with coughing.

Fraiser punched a button beside the bed and slightly elevated Carter's upper body. "Sam," she said softly as Carter's coughing fit abated somewhat. "Sam, it's Janet. You're at the SGC. You're safe now, honey. Can you open your eyes for me?" Carter's head lolled slightly from side to side, her forehead and eyebrows twisting in a concentrated effort to regain her sense of awareness. A soft, strangled groan escaping her lips, her eyelids lifted halfway, her expression still unfocused and edging on confusion.

"Good, Sam," Fraiser said, relief lighting her features. "Colonel O'Neill and Daniel are here with you. You're going to be just fine, honey." She lifted her pen light in line with Carter's eyes while gently nudging them farther open. "Sorry about this, but it's going to get a little bright for a second, okay? Look over my shoulder at Daniel." Fraiser could hardly contain her joy as she watched Carter's eyes slowly trek over her shoulder and up to Daniel's waiting smile.

"Hey Sam," he said as Fraiser shot a brief beam of light into each of Carter's eyes in turn, causing her to flinch at the sudden brightness. After she blinked her vision to clarity, Carter's attention returned to Daniel. He smiled down at her over Fraiser's shoulder, the relief he felt at her recovered awareness palpable.

She blinked slowly then, her eyes drifting away from Daniel's face to faint gradually left. The muscles of her neck, however, refused to heed her demands, weakened as they were from prolonged immobility and debilitating exhaustion. O'Neill, aware of her frustration, reached out and gently cupped her jaw in the palm of his hand, guiding her head to face him. When her half-lidded eyes found his, he was smiling at her, something he could see her struggling to match. Running his thumb across her cheek, he whispered, "There you are. Take it easy, Major. You've been out for awhile. Give yourself a chance to catch up."

"That's good advice, Colonel," Fraiser intoned. "In fact, I think that we should let her get some rest."

"Agreed," O'Neill said. Looking back down at Carter, he raised his eyebrow. "No more comas. That's an order." Her expression did not change and he was unsure if she understood him or not. Deciding not to push it, he began to release her hand, but she was reluctant to relinquish his presence and struggled to maintain her hold on his fingers.

"Don't go…" Her words were soft and slurred, mangled by the aridity of her throat. "Please…don't lea—" The request interrupted by another fit of coughing, O'Neill glanced up at Fraiser, questioning her silently. The doctor nodded her consent and handed him a glass of water, filled halfway, with a straw poking over the rim.

"Get at least half of that into her before she goes to sleep. If she can handle more, that's great," she instructed, her hand resting on Carter's shoulder. When Carter's fit had abated, the doctor stooped to meet her gaze and asked, "Did you hear that, Sam? Drink as much as you can manage. The colonel will stay with you, all right?" She paused. "I'm glad you're back. You're going to be all right." After giving her a small reassuring smile, Fraiser turned to Daniel, nodded slightly, and then disappeared behind the white curtains.

Daniel cleared his throat and stepped towards Carter cautiously, wanting to embrace her, yet reluctant to shake her further. Her eyes remained blank, stark, devoid of her characteristic spunk; that vacuity tore at his heart even more so than the wounds she had incurred. She gazed at him with those lifeless eyes, and for once he felt as if he could see inside of her, through to her core. What he detected there served to only further his grief. Faced with her deep-set apathy—regarding herself, more so than any assembled—he was unable to locate the appropriate words; he settled for the next best thing. Leaning over her, he placed his lips chastely against her forehead, wincing internally as he felt her body flinch at the contact. "I'll check back on you later," he said, his voice suddenly husky. "Hang in there, Sam."

As Daniel withdrew from them, Carter's grip on O'Neill's hand lessened and what little tension had gathered in her muscles dissipated, leaving her body slack and indifferent. O'Neill sensed the change immediately, and guided her eyes again to his. "Hey, no zoning on me, Major." Swallowing with great difficulty, she reinstituted her grip in his fingers in an effort to retain her awareness. "That's it. There ya go," he whispered to her, smoothing stray wisps of blond away from her eyes, behind her ears.

Catching both sides of her jaw between his palms, he gently brushed his thumbs over her mottled cheekbones. "I'm not leaving," he said finally. "And I am **not** going to let anyone ever hurt you again, Sam. You hear me? Never again."

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he rested his forehead gently against her temple, his mouth centimeters away from her ear. After feeling the weight of her head rest against his own, he whispered, "You're safe. Don't slip away from me now. Please." He pressed his lips softly against the hollow of her temple before drawing back slightly to look down at her, his lips twitching into a curve of his hallmark wryness. "And besides, the doc will have my head if I don't get you to drink some of this," he remarked, twirling the liquid around the clear glass. Her fingers curled against his palm in response to his remark. "How 'bout it?" he asked her softly. "Just a few sips and I'll let you get some rest."

When he moved the straw to her parched lips, they parted just enough to allow the tube access to her mouth. She could manage only small draughts, and even they, the colonel observed, took a concentrated effort.

The cool liquid coursed over her tongue and down her throat and she welcomed it, grateful for the blessed relief it provided. Never had she experienced this caliber of multi-level exhaustion. She had, of course, been previously physically spent, emotionally drained, and mentally wiped, but never before had all three amalgamated with such deep intensity nor infested her body with such totality. But she was safe now. The realization caused a series of faint tremors to rampage throughout her frame, the sudden security shocking her system into the waking breach of her memory.

The sights and sounds, the sensations and smells from P3X-275 surrounded her conscious mind, surfacing the events with startling accuracy. Her vulnerability, the shame and horror, the helplessness and fear, everything, every emotion that she had experienced on that god-forsaken planet over six days time teemed and pooled over the generous expanse of her senses and sent her sweeping back through to the reality of that existence. _No!_ Her mind shouted amongst the maelstrom, desperate for truth and honest circumstance. _No! This is not real,_ she thought as she was mentally escorted away from the sanctuary Daniel and Jack had created for her and into the variable hell of her captors' choosing. _This is not…I'm not here. This cannot be happening again! Please, God, not again…Jack! _

"Sam!"

A violent quaver enveloped her, its source outside of her ravaged body. Fingertips dug heavily into her upper arms and for a moment, her mental suspicions seemed to have been realized. But they had not called her by name, nor had fear laced throughout their cries. She was jolted again.

"Sam!" The voice sounded familiar. "Goddammit! Samantha!" Very familiar.

Her eyes flew open and into the concentrated, terrified stare of—

"J-Jack…?" The name lanced through her throat, burning with feverish intensity. Unable to trust her vision lest his presence be her mind's conjuring and not factual, she lifted her hand, trembling and pale, to brush the line of his jaw. Catching her proffered hand with his, O'Neill pressed it firmly against his cheek, his eyes set in an unwavering line that bore into hers.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, it's Jack. And I'm not going anywhere." He buried his lips into the palm of her hand; his forehead creased with the vicarious power of her pain, and silently sealed his promise.

Running the tips of his fingers along the outline of her face, he continued, "I don't know what's going on in there, but I do know that you're safe." The strength of his gaze increased then, and his voice became serious, reassuring. "I am **not** leaving you."

Unshed tears crept along the ridges of her eyelids and her head nodded slightly beneath the gentle probing of his fingers, accepting without hesitation the full implication of his assertion. As tears of relief began their gradual descent along the contours of her cheeks and chin, Carter found herself wrapped once more in the security of O'Neill's embrace. His voice muffled by her hair and his own body of unshed sorrow, he repeated, "I am _never_ leaving you."

Reveling in the quiet refuge of O'Neill's gentle kisses, whispered reassurances, and warm, breathing body, she allowed herself to be lulled to rest, her mind still and her body calm.

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After Carter's breaths slowed and deepened, and the remaining strain had been eased from her muscles, O'Neill withdrew from her, angling her head against the pillow so that she would see him immediately upon her awakening. In an effort to both comfort her and indulge himself, he laced his fingers with hers and every now and again ran his fingertips lightly over her pallid skin. Tension still edged the delicate lines of her face, pulling the corners of her mouth down at irregular intervals and crushing the skin around her eyes into hairline creases. Aching fomented in his limbs from intense longing to caress away that pain, to bury her in his arms, away from her dreams and haunts and the thoughts that plagued her. He resisted the impulse, knowing that she would not want him to assume the weight of her burden. Their entwined fingers would have to suffice for now.

He did not know the time, how long he had been with her, nor how long she had lain caught in the depths of sleep. Time had no meaning in this world they had come to inhabit; it was an irrelevant force situated somewhere below them, below the entirety of SG-1. Without intending to, Samantha Carter had effectively invalidated time itself. O'Neill shook his head and then rubbed his eyes with his free hand; that thought was too big. Way too big.

The curtains rustled behind him and parted, permitting access to General Hammond and Doctor Fraiser. O'Neill glanced up and nodded briefly to both parties, his eyebrows arched in question.

"Just came to see how she was doing, Colonel," the general assured him, silently noting the sight of his officers' intertwined hands. He supposed he should say something; he supposed that this grievous event had the capacity to catalyze into something decidedly against regulations; and he also supposed that he would not care should that reality come into being. Regulations be damned; he was not about to deny healing and happiness to two of his finest officers. Five years ago such a situation would have caused him great upset, but now, amongst what looked to be the bitter ruin of his finest team, he found himself contrarily swayed.

"She fell asleep awhile ago," O'Neill replied, aware of his proximity to his second-in-command in the presence of their senior officer, but particularly uncaring.

"How was she after Daniel and I left?" Dr. Fraiser intoned, pen hovering inches away from her ever-present clipboard.

"Uh…" O'Neill drew a deep breath and sifted through the many thoughts, emotions, and images that had surfaced since that time. He was quiet for a moment more before continuing. "She started to zone out again, but she came out of it quick enough. She drank some water, went to sleep." He shrugged his shoulders, before his face darkened suddenly. "Oh. She also slipped back to '275 for a couple minutes."

"Slipped back?" Hammond's eyebrows shifted around his brow, confused at the colonel's terminology.

"Flashback," he stated simply.

Dr. Fraiser's head cocked in reproach. "Next time that happens, call me over. Female victims of sexual assault usually don't respond well to men coming out of flashbacks. Seeing you immediately after she recovers might not bode well with her psychologically."

"Doc, she asked me to help her while she was flashback…ing. I'm pretty sure we were okay."

"But, sir—"

"What happened to 'Be patient, sir. She's going to need you.', huh? Didn't you just—"

"Yes, sir. I did tell you that. And I still expect that you're going to need to be patient. She's extremely fragile right now, and perhaps not entirely aware of her circumstances. I was shocked when she didn't adversely respond to you and Daniel being in the room when she woke up."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "What were you expecting? After five years of saving each other's asses she was suddenly going to not trust us?"

Dr. Fraiser nodded, her eyes soft. "Yes, I did. And it's still a possibility, sir."

"I'm sure it is, Doctor," he responded tersely. "But that hasn't happened yet, has it?"

"No, sir, I'm just trying to prepare you for what mig—"

"Trying to prepare me to deal with the trauma of a member of my team?" The colonel's eyes flashed irately as he recalled the gory images wrought upon him by his time in Black Ops. "I think I wrote the book, Doctor."

"She's not just a member of your team, Jack."

O'Neill's eyes, rushed with passion and rage, bolted to the general's firm, sympathetic stare. After a moment, the colonel's body relaxed resignedly into the support of his chair and he stared intently at his knees. Disengaging his hand from Carter's, he mentally braced himself for the reprimand he was certain he was about to receive.

Hammond took a breath and continued, weighing his words, yet refusing to mince them to accommodate the volatile nature of the situation. If anything, O'Neill needed to be slapped with the obvious truth as a notice of permission. "I don't know how deep your feelings run for Major Carter, but I'm an observant man. Now, I know it's none of my business, son, but regulations be damned."

O'Neill's head snapped up at this curt dismissal of military propriety. Certain he had misunderstood his commanding officer, he ventured, "Sir?"

"You heard me, Colonel." Turning to Dr. Fraiser, he added, "Keep me apprised on her condition, Doctor. I want to talk to her as soon as she wakes up."

Fraiser nodded. "Yes, sir."

Unable to keep the incredulity out of his gaze, O'Neill stared open-mouthed at the retreating back of General Hammond. Shifting to glance side-long at Fraiser, he asked, "Did you just hear that?"

Fraiser shook her head and kept her eyes locked on the clipboard. "I didn't hear a thing, Colonel."

O'Neill blinked once. And then he blinked again. "No," he drawled, still held tightly in the grip of astonishment. "No, of course you didn't." Clearing his throat, he took Carter's hand in his again, this time heartened, yet still markedly shocked, by the knowledge that he would not be forced to relinquish his grasp again. "So…" he began, looking up at the doctor. "Call you when she wakes up?"

Fraiser nodded. "I think that would be best, sir. As soon as she's able, I've arranged a psychological evaluation. The sooner she gets it over with, the better, I think." She pegged him with her eyes, and drew a deep breath. "The longer it's put off, the greater the chances of her being denied future active field duty."

"She is gonna get through this, Doc." O'Neill insisted, uncertain whether he was speaking to assuage her or himself. "She's gonna be going through those gates again faster than we can say—"

"Jack…" The grip on his fingers tightened as Carter's eyes gradually eased open.

"Right here," he told her, his thumb reassuringly rubbing her fingers. "Janet's here, too."

Janet took a quick inventory of the monitors. "How are you feeling, Sam?"

O'Neill heard Carter's breath hitch as she looked distractedly at the bedspread, her lips parting slightly as if to respond. But nothing came.

Her mouth closed again and her eyes slipped tightly shut. Her fingers curled against his palm and he could feel her nails scrape gently across his skin.

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Sam," he whispered.

Her eyes opened then, and she nodded in lieu of words, and gripped O'Neill's hand with an urgency that belied her injuries. Slowly, almost ashamedly, Carter's eyes drew across the plain of the bedspread with the intent of finding his, but discovered that she was unable to meet his gaze. She felt his finger gently crook beneath her chin, guiding her eyes through the last steps of their journey. Choking back the tears springing to life in the back of her throat, she allowed herself a few brief moments to revel unabashedly in the tenderness utterly apparent in his eyes, the lines on his face, the taut corners of his mouth, before dissolving into a heap of shuddering, prostrated sobs.

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mabynn (at) gmail (dot) com 


	2. Reassurance

**Warning:**There is an explicit and potentially triggering scene regarding self-injury in this section, as well as suicidal ideation.**  
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**Note: **The title of this story is pronounced "ah-LEE-ah JAHK-ta ehst." Just in case anyone wanted to know...**  
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Alea Iacta Est 

Part II

Reassurance

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_The number of days one is placed on medical leave varies indirectly with the number of hours one is continually assaulted on an alien planet. This resultant then varies directly with the ignorance of the personnel administering one's post-traumatic stress inventory._

It was a hypothesis Carter had never encountered before and she was not certain she agreed with its basic theory—well, at least the first half of its basic theory. Then again, Dr. Roberts had not asked her for her opinion, he had only sequestered the facts. While temporarily inclined to lie her way out of medical leave, she knew that the consequences of such an action would cause irrevocable damage; not to mention the fact that Jack, Daniel, and Teal'C would never allow her mendacity to remain unchallenged. Damn them.

SG-1 had been ordered to go on stand-down for two months, effective immediately by order of Dr. Fraiser, General Hammond, Dr. Roberts, and the rest of the fucking world. Her initial fury at being barred from her work for that long had deadened into a dull throb of fear that pulsed unremittingly in the pit of her stomach. Since her initial breakdown in the infirmary, she had spoken only in response to direct questions, and sometimes not even then. She often found herself "zoning" as the colonel referred to it—lost in the chasm between the clicks of the second hand. Dr. Fraiser called it a defense mechanism and she supposed it was, but that did not make it any less frustrating. Reconciling the knowledge that she did not need to defend herself from Jack, Daniel, and Teal'c with the belief that she was now defiled, her honor tarnished beyond repair, beyond what her co-workers already believed, proved to be a most daunting and elusive task.

Jack had rarely left her side during the interceding month since their return from '275 and she was thankful for his vigilance. Without it, she would probably be resigned to her home and internal machinations for the interim of the team's down time. As it was, Jack had offered her sanctuary at his cabin outside of Silver Bay, a small town in the north woods of Minnesota.

"I'm going to be heading there, anyway," he had told her. "It's a good place to…think. If you need to." He had taken her hand then and tipped her chin up disallowing her further avoidance of his gaze. "You don't have to come, Sam. It's an invitation, not an order."

She had turned away from him, unable to quell the tremors fomenting in her stomach. "Please, sir," she had whispered, choked tears straining her voice. "Don't feel obligated to take care of me. I'll be fine by myself."

"Janet doesn't agree."

Sighing in frustration, she had raked her fingers through her hair. "Janet and all the other doctors can go to hell as far as I'm concerned." That statement had undone her reserve, the calm she had collected over the previous few hours had evaporated immediately. Ignoring her body's signs, she attempted to reinforce her assertion through her tears. "They don't know what they're talking about."

He had moved behind her, and she had felt his warmth intermingle with hers. She had known he wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms, but had refrained for the sake of propriety. "I think they know very well what they're talking about, Sam," he had said gently. "And I agree with their decision. You can't go back to work. Not right now at least. Hell, the whole team's shook up. You weren't the only one temporarily relieved of active duty, you know."

She had only been able to nod.

"C'mere."

She had gone willingly, her only fear of the contact fleeting as soon as her head rested against his shoulder. Summoning her courage, she stepped back from their embrace, his hand still lightly clutching her upper arm, and repeated her earlier sentiment. "Don't feel obligated, sir."

She could still hear his irritated sigh in the back of her mind. "Oh, fer crying out loud! I don't feel _obligated_, all right? I _want_ to take you with me. You hear that? I _want_ to." Stooping to meet her lowered eyes, he reiterated, "_I want you_ to come with me, Sam."

The exchange had become too much for her to handle and had thrown her delicate emotional equilibrium out of whack. Tears had quickly welled up in her eyes and coursed down her pale cheeks in streams. Through her sorrow, she had weakly managed, "No. You don't want me."

His eyebrows had suddenly shot up. "I don't? Now that's news. Why don't I?"

Crossing her arms over her body, she had attempted to compact herself as much as possible. Her muscles were still stiff from the effort. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn and the undertones of his question disconcerted her somewhat. While she recognized her part in instigating the sudden shift, she had been unable to formulate an acceptable, or communicable, answer to his question. Her eyes closed painfully as he repeated his inquiry.

"Why don't I, Sam?"

His voice had been soft, kind—loving. Incapable of answering him directly, she had cleared her throat and swallowed any tears that had yet to fall. Her eyes, moist and bright, bright blue, had found his and she nodded. "I'll come with you."

He had smiled at that. "Great!" And then he added, "I'm not getting an answer to the other question, am I?"

She had shaken her head.

He had nodded, apparently satisfied. "I can live with that. I do have two months to weasel it out of you, though."

She had smiled then; it had been small, but it had been a genuine Samantha Carter light-up-the-world smile. And it had felt exquisite.

Gathering her bags in the front entry, she glanced down at her watch. Eight-twenty. Jack would be arriving in ten minutes to pick her up. Making a second sweep through the kitchen to double check the power buttons of her small appliances, she ruminated again on the upcoming two months. Perhaps after two weeks Jack would be willing to let her return home. She could talk to Janet then and maybe set up some kind of part time deal. Her nerves would calm down in two weeks, right? She would be better then. She would be able to perform her duties.

But, she doubted Jack would allow her to return to base, no matter how much she demanded and/or pleaded.

_Jack…_He had insisted that they "forget the formality" while they were on leave. Apparently, there was "nothing worse that having it all follow you when you're trying to get away from it." She supposed he was correct; however, this new familiarity was…surprisingly easy. Calling her commanding officer by his first name was not something she imagined that she would fall readily into, but apparently her imagination left something to be desired.

Hearing the rumble of an engine and the slam of a car door startled her from her introspections. Taking one last satisfactory inventory of the kitchen, she made for the front door and opened it just prior to his knocking.

"There's no sneaking up on you, huh?" He smiled and she pictured his eyes shining from behind his dark sunglasses.

"Not usually." She returned his smile, only briefly meeting his eyes, hoping that the tension that hung from her spine had not manifested itself in her expression. Drawing a quick, settling breath she turned to gather her bags.

He flanked her into the entryway and stooped alongside her to pick up one of the duffels. "Let me help you with those," he told her as he reached for the nearest handle, his hand accidentally brushing the side of her calf. Upon sensing the contact she immediately dropped the luggage she held and spun away from him, her face contorted with fear, her hands protectively blocking her chest.

Jack let go of the bag and held his hands up, his palms facing her. "Whoa! Hey, it's all right." He ripped his sunglasses off of his face and stuck them in his pocket. "It's all right," he repeated, his tone decidedly kinder.

Expelling a breath she had not been aware of holding, she leaned heavily against the wall and bent to rest her hands on her knees. Taking in a deep drought of air, she attempted to quiet the klaxons that burned inside her head. She closed her eyes against the sharp sting of tears and willed herself not to cry in front of him. Again.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Nah, I should know better than to try and help you do anything."

His attempt at humor was lost on her; she was somewhere between mental phases trying to sort through what little she could fully grasp at present. His voice, his presence, her fear. That was about all she had a hold of right now.

"Take a couple more deep breaths, Sam." His voice again. Her fingers dug into her knees as she struggled to follow his suggestion, but her lungs simply would not heed her mind's request.

Noticing her effort, Jack spoke up again, his concern apparent. "Sam, I'm coming towards you. It's okay, it's just me, no freaking now, all right?" He knelt in front of her, his forehead inches away from hers. "I'm going to take your hands and help you stand up. Then we're going to walk out to my truck, I'll help you in, and then I'll come back to get your bags. Sound like a plan?"

Sam focused on his soothing tones and managed the clarity to nod her assent.

"Okay. Here we go."

The warmth of his hands smoothed over the tops of hers, his fingers moving across her soft skin in order to calm the death grip she had on her knees. Steadying herself mentally, she allowed him to help her stand and refused to flinch when his arm rounded her shoulders. Dazedly, she followed his lead to the truck, and climbed into the passenger's seat. Soon, she felt the truck's rear door slam, her things stowed safely inside. Then he was beside her, fastening his seatbelt and then reaching across Sam's body to lock hers into place.

Observing the tremulous rise and fall of his companion's chest, Jack said her name softly. "Sam?" Unable to gauge a discernable reaction, he called to her again, this time with added vehemence. "Sam. Over here. Look at me." She blinked several times before turning her attention to him, her mind visibly disengaging from its course albeit slowly. "There ya go," he encouraged her, smiling gently. "Focus on me and try to take a couple deep breaths, all right? It's tough, but it'll help you calm down."

It was and it did. After several minutes of idling in the driveway, Jack seemed confident enough in her stability to begin their trip north. Engaging her in conversation would be pointless, but he did not want to allow her access to the distant world she had created out of desperation. That solitude was not necessary, nor was it helpful according to his experience and the advice of Dr. Fraiser. While he thought quickly to locate a path out of this puzzle, Sam silently slipped her hand into his and allowed their fingers to interlace much the same way they had when she was in the infirmary. Surprised at the bold gesture, he glanced over at her only to be rewarded with a sidelong half-smile.

"Thanks," she whispered sheepishly.

"Anytime," he replied, smiling, and returned his attention to the road unfurling ahead of them.

Taking comfort in her physical grounding line into the present, she laid her head against the rest behind her and sighed quietly. Weary of fighting her mind's pervasive urge to forget itself, she allowed her consciousness to drift as she numbly watched the scenery outside of the window hasten into the past.

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After several hours of continued driving, Jack's vision had sufficiently glazed over and his stomach rumbled at him angrily. _Oh yeah. Food_, he thought wryly. _Eating. I remember that._ Caught up as he had been in his internal monologue—actually, this time it more resembled a tirade—he had forgotten the time. Glancing down at the LED on the dash, he grimaced at the numbers—1:18pm. _Definitely time for a break. _He took the next exit, its commerce and food offerings promising, and drove into the parking lot of the oasis. Shifting the truck into park, he allowed himself to gaze unabashedly at the woman sleeping in the seat next to him.

He had been shocked when she had accepted his invitation to accompany him on this little excursion; shocked, yes, but more than a little pleased. His motives had not been purely selfish; he knew from experience that trauma victims needed security more than anything else and he knew that from his perspective at least, security was one thing he could provide for her. Her acceptance of his proposal proved that she believed that, too. Although he resented the fact that he was required to report Sam's condition to Janet every twenty-four hours and he was technically Sam's "provisional medical supervisor," he was thankful that he had been given permission to assume the role.

Throughout the rigors of the psychological tests she had to endure, he had been with her; even more impressive was that she had allowed him to be with her, even asking him to accompany her. He had witnessed the slow unraveling of her carefully constructed emotional detachment and the crumbling of her internal protective barriers. While in the presence of General Hammond and the rest of the SGC, she became the vestige of whom she had been, stoic and precise, deliberately kind. But in front of Daniel, Teal'C, Janet, and himself, she emerged from behind those inner walls and allowed them to witness her brokenness. He knew better than to believe that she was hiding nothing from them, but he was confident that if they played their cards appropriately, everything would come with time. He would just have to be patient and, while that was assuredly not his strongest suit, for her, he was willing to make his damnedest effort.

Lingering over her relaxed frame, a smile slowly spread across his face. He could not recall the last time he had seen her this at ease, especially in sleep. Even when she had been unconscious, her body laid across the cot fraught with tension. Perhaps it was the civilian dress. As much as her jeans flattered the gradual slope of her contours, they looked damned comfortable. The oversized white USAF sweatshirt she wore engulfed her like a blanket, and the hood rested beneath her head much like a pillow. The anxiety that had riddled her face this morning was gone now having been erased by a sense of palpable peace. She was beautiful. She was exquisitely free of makeup, and he delighted in the soft contrast of her pale ivory skin and the spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The bruises across her cheekbones had lessened substantially and the scrape that had decorated the left side of her jaw had reduced itself to a speckling of small scabs.

Perhaps sensing his scrutiny or in response to the sudden lack of movement, Sam stirred, her eyebrows creasing against the dense fog of sleep in an effort to rouse herself. Their hands still loosely joined on the seat between them, he squeezed her fingers lightly and traced small circular patterns on her palm with his thumb. Dr. Fraiser had advised him to keep their physical contact to a minimum, but he'd be damned if he was going to let her accustom herself to shying away from his touch. Especially now.

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing her momentary confusion as she quickly surveyed her surroundings.

"Hey, sleepyhead. 'Bout time you woke up."

Her uncertainty lifted as she hazily focused on her smiling companion. Freeing her hand from his grasp, she yawned mightily and stretched her arms out to her sides. Letting her head fall heavily back onto the rest, she stifled another yawn before drowsily asking him, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost five hours."

"Really?" She muttered. "It didn't seem nearly that long."

He reached out and grazed the back of his hand over her cheek; a full-fledged grin stretched across his face when she did not flinch at the contact, but turned her head into his caress, her eyes still closed. "Did you get much sleep last night?" he asked her, resting his hand on her shoulder and curving his fingers delicately around her neck. When her eyes remained closed and her head shook from side to side slightly, he began gently kneading the muscle beneath his hand, being mindful of her still-healing contusions. "Why not?"

She shrugged in response, her head lifting from its place against the rest and eyes slowly opening. Refusing to look at him, she whispered, "Just couldn't get to sleep." He felt the flesh undergoing his ministrations begin to tense as her mind continued to drift farther and farther away from his own.

"Hey," he said quickly, escorting her back to the present. Her head snapped up to meet his gaze, her eyes locking onto his. He smiled at her. "Let's get food. I'm starving."

Nodding thankfully, she unfastened her seatbelt and eased herself out of the car. Rounding the hood to meet up with him, her hand sidled into his as they walked over to entrance of the oasis. "I'm sorry I keep doing that."

He glanced down at her, bewildered at her sudden apology. "Keep doing what?"

She sighed deeply, her face downcast and fixed intently on the pavement in front of her feet. "Keep zoning." A soft snort caught her off-guard and she turned to look up at him.

Halting their trek towards the oasis, Jack stopped in the middle of the parking lot and closed his fingers around her upper arms. His gaze fixed with kind intensity directly into her eyes, he said, "Sam, 'zoning' is normal, and normal is decidedly okay."

Her eyes flicked away from his gaze in protest. "But…"

"But what?"

"But…" she began hesitantly, and then noticed the cautious approach of a burgundy sedan. "…the middle of a parking lot is not the best place to have this conversation." He turned and waved to the driver as he took her hand again and led her into the establishment. "I'm going to run to the restroom," she said and began to step away from him.

Startling a gasp out of her, he pulled her close to him and whispered, "Fine, but we're picking up that conversation again when we get our food."

Glowering at him, but saying nothing, she started across the hall to the rest room, turning only when she heard him call over to her. "Sam! What do you want to eat?"

"Something dead, cooked, and on a bun," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared into the ladies' room, oblivious to his large, appreciative grin instigated by her reply.

Jack thanked the cashier for their tray just as Sam trotted up behind him. "There you are," he said, tossing her a cup as they passed the fountain drinks. "I was getting ready to call base and have them start a search party."

She sniffled as she pressed the cup against the diet Pepsi lever, her slight smile obvious in her reply. "Might've been a little over the top, even for you."

Her voice sounding slightly, curiously congested, he peered over at her staring studiously ahead at her rapidly filling beverage. Red rims had formed around her eyelashes and the veins in her eyes stood out in stark contrast against their milky background. "Sam…" he began cautiously, but his concern was abbreviated by the slight shake of her head.

"Not right now," she said simply, bringing his inquiry to an abrupt halt. Forging past him, she selected a secluded table on the outskirts of the seating area, far from the prying eyes and ears of the other diners. She settled down in her chair, her back literally to the wall, and rubbed her hands wearily over her face. Taking his cue from her, he passed out their food and began to unwrap his burger when he noticed the bruises that still stood out in brilliant purples along the curve of her neck. With a start, he realized why she had elected to wear the billowing sweatshirt—not only did it conceal the curves of her body, but it also served to hide the injuries she had incurred on P3X-275. Anyone who saw them together in passing and happen to take note of her contusions might think that he was the perpetrator. His stomach turned violently at the idea of hurting her, the burger in front of him no longer holding the appeal it did a mere thirty seconds ago.

Their silence growing steadily around him, he cleared his throat, "Nice sweatshirt."

Her hands moved away from her face and she glanced up at him, smiling slightly. The gesture never reached her eyes. "Thanks," she answered. "I thought it was appropriate."

He grunted his agreement and took a sip of his drink, noticing that she had yet to unwrap her sandwich. "Don't like what I ordered? It fits your description perfectly."

She nodded. "It does. But I'm not that hungry."

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, neither am I."

"You just said you were starving."

"I know," he answered, suddenly uncomfortable. "I think I, uh, lost my appetite."

"Okay," she drawled, her eyebrows knitting in bewilderment. "Since when do you turn down food?"

He somberly met her worried gaze. "Since our first day on P3X-275."

Eyes widening in realization and then averting his gaze, she nervously crossed her arms over her chest. Frowning against the barrage of emotion welling up inside of him, he gathered up their uneaten burgers and fries and tossed them into a nearby trash receptacle. He walked back over to where she sat and rested his free hand on her shoulder. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's get out of here." She nodded and obligingly rose, taking her drink in one hand and his hand in the other.

Fingers intertwined, they crossed the parking lot together in companionable silence and, after dropping their drinks off in the beverage holders in the truck, made their way to a grove of trees beyond the semi-truck parking slots. Jack led her down the dirt path they found behind the initial growth, its girth wide enough to accommodate two adults abreast. After continuing in their quiet stroll for several more minutes, Sam finally broke the silence.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," she whispered, her eyes staring intently at the ground several feet ahead of them.

His quick intake of breath at her statement confirmed that she had hit a nerve, possibly the topic of his ruminations. He said nothing and released her hand to plunge his into the depths of his pocket. This response proving itself inadequate, she stopped walking and grasped his elbow, pulling him to rest beside her. Now it was he who could not meet her eyes; he locked his gaze at the trees just above her head and did not respond to her when she laid her hand hesitantly on his chest.

"Jack," she said her voice tremulous and straining. Closing his eyes at the sound of her voice, he hung his head, still refusing to look at her. "Hey," she whispered, her fingertips rising to trace the outline of his jaw. "Look at me, Jack. Please..." Sensing the desperation in her tone, he finally brought his gaze in league with her own, and felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw raw fear and determination licking the depths of her pupils. She reached up with both hands to grasp the sides of his face. Eyes boring intensely into his, she whispered fiercely, "Listen to me, Jack. What happened over there was **not your fault.** There was **nothing** you could have done to stop them. Believe me, I looked." She paused as she drew a shaky breath, her eyes softening as her own grief intermingled with shame, their progeny manifesting itself in her gaze. "I can't do this alone. I-I can't. I-I…" Their visual connection broke then, her internal struggle overwhelming her capacity for speech.

Wordlessly, he engulfed her in his arms, holding her head gently against the crook of his neck. Feeling her inhale deeply, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead before drawing back to look at her face, her eyes downcast and quite sad. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and placed his lips again against her forehead, offering her what comfort he could as he began to pull her back against him. This time, however, she stopped him, her hands alighting on the fabric of his shirt. Breathing shakily, she gradually brought her eyes into line with his before continuing the line of thought she had abandoned moments earlier. "I can't do this alone, Jack," she whispered. "I need you."

With her admission came the onslaught of her tears and the safety of his warm, comforting embrace. Resting his cheek against the top of her trembling form, he held her against him, certain now in her intent and reason for accompanying him here. Feeling a swell of emotion from deep within his body, he held her as desperately as she clung to him. Smoothing blond tendrils of hair away from her tear-stained face, he whispered, "You got me." Her arms snaked around his waist as she gripped him tightly, unwilling to let him go.

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Music crooned softly in the background, underscored by the steady vibration of the road beneath the wheels of the truck. The combination of the two, coupled with Jack's fingers running lazily through her hair, had lulled Sam to sleep a little over an hour ago. Breaking several traffic regulations in the state of North Dakota, she lay curled up on the seat beside him, her head resting against his upper thigh as they sped down the highway towards their night's destination. They had not spoken of this apparent new level in their relationship since Sam's tearful admission in the grove earlier in the afternoon. Jack knew only that Sam needed him right now, the regulations that bound them to professionalism had been effectively damned by his superior officer, and that this—whatever "this" was—felt right. He was no longer able to put their relationship into quantifiable terms, but he found himself surprisingly uncaring, content to ride the ebbs and flows as they presented themselves. He smiled as he recalled the sheepishness with which she had curled up next to him, asking him if he was "okay" with her gesture. Hell, he was more than okay with it. He welcomed the opportunity.

Flicking the blinker, he quickly changed lanes and guided the truck around the curve of their exit. The orange glow of the street lamps flooded the truck then, bathing the woman sleeping beside him in their gentle light. As he pulled into the parking lot of their hotel, Sam's eyes blinked open and she lifted her head from his leg.

"Great timing," he told her as he turned off the engine. "We're here."

Stifling a yawn, she answered, "Oh, good. Where's here?"

"Center, North Dakota. Home of the Roadside Inn and not much else."

"Ah," she nodded appreciatively. "Boring. I like boring."

He nodded and hooked his fingers around the door handle. "Yeah, boring's good." He hopped out of the car and met up with her in front of the hood, his hand staying her from proceeding into the lobby. Sam looked up at him questioningly.

"Before we go in there…" He trailed off awkwardly before gaining the courage to forge ahead with his inquiry. "Uh, how many rooms do we need?"

Her lips parted as her face broke in understanding; her eyes shifted away from his then, contemplating his timid question. Finally, after several agonizing moments, she looked back up at him. "One room, two beds," she whispered, smiling up at him and shyly winding her hand to rest in the crook of his elbow. "Apparently I can sleep with you around," she added.

He grunted, a wry smile forming across his face. "Apparently." His smile broadened as she giggled at his response, knowing that she was thinking about the amount of time she had spent snuggled up next to him in the cab of the truck. Hoisting the lobby door open for her, she preceded him and made her way up to the counter. Quickly requisitioning their room and stoically ignoring the raised eyebrow given him by the attendant when he asked for separate beds, he handed her the key, smiling sheepishly. "You'd better keep track of that. I'd lose it in ten seconds flat."

"Yes, sir," she said as her hand rose briefly in a mock salute.

He rolled his eyes, unable to quell the spark that lit his eyes at her jab. "For crying out loud," he muttered, nabbing her hand and towing her out the door with him. "Come on, you."

"Coming, sir," she replied, attempting to suppress her impending giggles.

"Would you stop that?"

"Sorry," she muttered, her eyes dancing in the dim light of the street lamps.

Pulling her towards him, his lips twitched into a small smile as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to her temple in absolution. He was about to release her, wary suddenly of pushing her too far too soon, when he felt the soft, welcome pressure of her arm encircle the back of his waist. Sighing contentedly, he gently squeezed her shoulder before placing another kiss on the top of her head, her own sweet, spicy scent lingering with the musty aroma of his leather jacket. It was the smell of contentment, he decided; contentment and the warm blaze of something he lacked the vocabulary to describe. Whatever it was, he thought, he liked it. He liked it a whole hell of a lot. Reveling in the warmth of her pressed lightly against his side, their steps falling into perfect synchrony, he welcomed the coming months with open arms, hoping in them and their promises for the first time in many, many years.

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Jack awoke to the sound of running water. He and Sam had decided to leave early the next morning to beat the midday rush to Minnesota's Northwoods. Knowing that Sam could shower and dress in under ten minutes, he assumed that he had a quarter of an hour left to embrace the comforting warmth of the blankets and pillows. Groggily rolling over in bed, he wiped his hand across his eyes and blinked them several times before focusing on the clock on the nightstand.

3:14 am.

Startled and slightly confused by the readout, he glanced over at his companion's bed, frowning when he saw the disarray of the coverlet. 3:14 am. What the hell was she doing in the shower? They hadn't planned to start out unti—

Finally, realization knifed through his sleep muddled brain and his eyes widened with its intensity. "Shit," he muttered, dragging his body into a sitting position as he listened to the hard water spray hitting the tiled walls. _Apparently I can sleep with you around_—her earlier words drifted back to him as he raked his fingers raggedly through his hair. "Apparently not," he mumbled back to her sentiment. Sighing, he decided to give her ten minutes before he knocked to check on her. Perhaps paranoia was getting the best of him, but he would rather face embarrassment than endangering her already delicate psyche further.

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Their hands were everywhere—all of them, all at once. She could not get away from their groping fingers or their lustful, hungry stares as they openly surveyed her prone body, she could not rid herself of their penetrating members. They were all around her, wherever she went, cajoling her, grasping her, pulling her back towards them with terrifying ferocity. She had never left P3X-275, her body was still there, being brutally assaulted over and over and over again. The scent of their sweat encrusted, throbbing bodies poured into her nostrils; their cries of ecstasy and triumph as they came within her filled her ears, clouding out all that remained of her rational self. They inhabited her every system, her every thought and feeling and sensation…she had to get them out of her…_she had to get them out_…

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A dull thud reverberated throughout the bathroom, truncating his prescribed ten minute wait into a mere three. He was on his feet and across the room in a split second, his knuckles rapping lightly on the door as he called her name.

"Sam?"

No response.

"Sam!" He called again, louder this time and with more urgency. Still, she did not respond; pressing his ear to the door, he strained to hear anything beyond the water pounding against the ceramic tile, but to no avail. Finally, damning the consequences of his actions should she just be leisurely showering at three o'clock in the morning, he turned the door handle and stepped into the room, the immediate, overwhelming change in humidity catching him off guard.

"Whoa!" He exclaimed, coughing slightly at the atmospheric variation. "Sam," he said, flicking on the bathroom fan. "Sam, you okay?" Still his words garnered no response except the water running out of the showerhead; Jack felt his stomach begin to churn as the situation began to grow more and more unsettling. "Sam!" he exclaimed one last time before impatiently shoving the shower curtain against the wall.

Swallowing harshly, he felt his heart drop from his chest as he finally saw her body, beaten into a red sheen by the violent pressure and extreme temperature of the water, and crumpled into a fetal ball at the end of the tub, her head slumped dejectedly against the rounded corner. A thin, steady stream of dull mahogany water ran between her legs and swirled down the drain.

"Oh god…" he whispered as he quickly turned off the water and ran his hand along the crown of her head, her hair damp and unnaturally hot. "Sam?" he whispered, pushing her upper body away from the tub and directing her to face him. Desperately searching her eyes for any sign of her Self, he tapped the back of his hand lightly against her cheek repeatedly. "Come on, baby," he muttered, oblivious as the endearment rattled off his tongue. "Come on, look at me."

Continuing his attempts to rouse her, he quickly surveyed her body for the source of the brownish liquid, vainly hoping that her internal injuries had reopened somehow and had yet to congeal. Those hopes crumbled rapidly, however, when he glimpsed a broken disposable shaving tool clutched in her right hand; weeping self-inflicted lacerations crisscrossed the tops and sides of her breasts, blood spilling swiftly down their swells and across her abdomen.

Snatching several towels from the rack above the sink, he unfurled the smallest one and placed it over her wounds, gently guiding her left arm across her body to hold the make-shift bandage in place. When he was satisfied that the blood flow was beginning to staunch, he pried the razor from her grasp and hurled it into the garbage can; gently he pressed his fingers into the heated skin of her back. His fingerprints turned white and then gradually resumed their previous color, the scheme indicative of a first degree burn. "Shit," he muttered, his eyes closing momentarily before he stopped the drain and began running a gentle stream of cool water into the tub.

Turning from her, he grabbed one of the washcloths off of the pile beside him and dipped it into the growing pool surrounding her, saturating it thoroughly before withdrawing it and placing the cloth on the irritated flesh of her back. He knelt next to her, wedged between the edge of the tub and the toilet, and ran one hand through the damp strands of her hair while the other continued its soothing ministrations along her back and shoulders, the water cooling her skin with surprising speed. Every now and again he would say her name and whisper soothingly to her, his entire being focused exclusively on returning this woman to the present.

The discomfort he felt upon seeing her naked body on P3X-275 had dissipated entirely since their return. Her current state of undress did not affect him, except to foster within him a deep sense of compassion, manifested by the chaste, loving strokes with which he soothed her now trembling body. Sensing her slow return to normalcy, he increased the frequency of his murmured platitudes, each sentiment punctuated by water dripping from the cloth and down the smooth skin of her back. Hearing her slight sniffle, he stopped cooling her back momentarily and brushed damp blond tendrils away from her face.

"Sam?" He asked tentatively, his tone barely audible. "Can you look at me?"

Sam lifted her forehead from the edge of the tub and settled her cheekbone against her knee, her eyes focused on the white porcelain in front of her, refusing—or unable—to meet his gaze. Keeping his eyes trained on her, he resumed cleansing her back, working her shoulders, neck, and upper arms into his routine. Her eyes slid slowly closed and her eyebrows crinkled in response to his continued measures; he paused when he could not decipher the emotion behind her reaction.

"Is this okay?" He relaxed as she nodded, her eyes still closed, and her body progressively easing somewhat. Resuming his endeavor, he began silently massaging the groove of her temple with his thumb before gliding the tip of his finger along the bared portion of her face, tracing small patterns along the curves of her now drying flesh. Involuntarily she shivered, chilled, her body having returned to its normal pallor.

Placing a soft kiss on top of her head, he rung out the washcloth and laid it over the edge of the bathtub before letting the small pool of water out of the tub. After the water drained, he wrapped a large bath towel around her shoulders and bent over her, winding one arm across the back of her upper torso and snaking the other under her knees. Picking her up in one strong, smooth motion, he turned to deposit her on the closed seat of the toilet.

He gently disengaged her splayed fingers from the crook of her neck and brought her left hand down to her side. Wincing when he saw deep red blood stains running through the fabric, he removed the dressing and studiously inspected the inflicted damage. Several of the cuts were quite deep and continued oozing once the bandage had been taken away, but most were shallow, thin scratches along her skin that would hardly be noticeable in a day or two.

Focusing his attention on the more severe gashes, he reached behind his shoulder and retrieved his overnight bag from beside the sink. After rifling around for a bit, he located a tube of Neosporin, gauze, and medical tape and placed them on the floor alongside him. Dampening a clean washrag, he brushed it lightly against the bar of soap on the counter and then knelt in front of his companion. She stared dully ahead, seemingly unaware of her circumstances, his presence included.

Sighing resignedly, he looked down at the rag in his hands. "Look, Sam..." he began softly, his next words hesitant and drawn out. "I, uh, I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm kinda making this up as I go along. The military didn't exactly prepare me for this. You either, I guess." Taking a deep breath, heavy with the pressure of his own frustration, he raked his fingers through his sleep tousled hair. "I'm no good at this," he mumbled.

Then, after a moment, he began speaking carefully, deliberately. "I don't want to do something stupid and end up hurting you even more." Glancing up at her, her expression distant and dangerously vacant, he continued, his tone earnest, "If I do something wrong you have to tell me, Sam, all right? Can you do that?" Gently placing his hand over hers, he blinked several times in an attempt to repress the mist that threatened to overwhelm his vision and found himself incapable of holding her in his gaze any longer. Succumbing to sudden immense fatigue, he allowed his head to drift down, his chin resting dejectedly against his chest and long evaded tears falling noiselessly onto the fabric of his sweatpants, the material darkening in their wake.

Unexpectedly her fingers shifted beneath his own, trembling in their urgency, and interspaced them, lacing themselves lightly between his knuckles. Glancing up abruptly through his watery eyes, he fell helplessly into the sight of her own grief; his desolate plea had spurred her into the vestige of cognizance. Unable to prevent himself, he slightly tightened his grip on her hand as if to dissuade her from fleeing him again. His eyes slipped closed, his relief and compassion riveting the air, as she spoke hoarsely, her tone reassuring him while her heart lacked the strength.

"Yes," she whispered to him. "I can."

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Sam gradually awoke several hours later to the faint, comforting reverberation of a heart beating softly beneath her head. Even through a slumberous fog she was able to determine the sound's proprietor partly defined by the assuring pressure of his arms looped around her shoulders and waist. Taking in a long, deep breath, she allowed herself to revel in his presence, his clean, masculine scent, his soothing warmth before shifting further into his embrace. Wincing at the unexpected discomfort as her breasts pressed evenly against his chest, she drew back, vaguely aware of the circumstances that had bourn their current sleeping arrangements.

Little remained of her memories except for a few fleeting images, more impressions than actual pictures: Jack's attentiveness, the tenderness and empathy with which he had cleansed and bandaged her wounds and smoothed aloe into the irritated skin of her back; how he had meekly massaged lotion over her arms and legs, her shoulders and neck to stave off the impending dehydration that accompanies extended exposure to extreme temperatures; how he had helped her dress, his eyes never straying or staying fixed on any part of her nakedness for too long; how he had helped her into his own bed and, there, held her gently against his body as she had slowly succumbed to sleep.

Any doubts she may have had about accompanying him on this trek dissipated under the light of this new, insightful scrutiny. For the first time in her adult life, she yearned to feel safe and protected, and, here, in the arms of Jack O'Neill, her commanding officer and dearest friend those desired sensations engulfed her easily.

The flutter of his heart was augmented by the grumbling of his stomach then, stirring him to consciousness. His arms reflexively tightened around her eliciting a slight pained gasp from her as her back whimpered at the increased pressure.

Hearing her opposition, involuntary though it was, he relinquished his hold on her body, the arm under her head flopping back against the pillow while his other hand came to rest on his stomach. "Sorry," he muttered, his voice scratchy with sleep.

"It's all right," she answered, locating his hand under the blankets and threading their fingers together reassuringly. She felt his other hand alight on her head as his fingers began combing lazily through her hair, and allowed her eyes to droop contentedly closed at the settling, intimate contact.

His breath, warmed from sleep, washed over forehead as he brushed his lips against her skin and whispered, "How're you doing with…last night and everything?"

Sighing, she buried her head against his shoulder, stoically ignoring the pain that coursed over her chest. After a moment of hesitation, she whispered, "Fine."

"Bull shit."

"Jack…" she replied as she began mentally formulating a defense.

"Nope," he answered her, pulling back to look at her in the grey light of morning, his dark eyes hard with concern, his voice firm yet soft. Disengaging his hand from hers, he gently traced the outline of her face, beginning at her temple, rounding the rim of her ear, and dipping down to her chin before cupping her jaw gingerly in his palm. "Like it or not, I'm not going to let you tell me that you're fine. Not right now, not after what happened last night or on that god-damned planet. I know better than that." Resting his head again against the pillow, he softly touched his forehead to hers as he whispered, "If you don't want to talk about it, I understand. But don't tell me you're fine if you're not."

Swallowing the unexpected lump that had congealed in her throat at the passion of his words, she nodded meekly, allowing a few scattered tears license to roam down her cheeks. "All right," she responded, her throat tight.

Finding her free hand again, he traced the perimeter of her fingers before threading them with his. "So," he started softly. "How're you doing with everything that happened last night?"

She sighed and compacted herself against him; obligingly, he wrapped his arms around her thin frame, resting his cheek on the crown of her forehead and waiting for her to speak. "I'm, uh, kinda…kinda freaked out," she said finally, her shame evident. "I don't remember doing…_anything_, Jack. _Nothing_."

"Do you remember what you were thinking about?"

"Not really," she answered, her frustration rapidly gaining on the intensity of her embarrassment. She closed her eyes momentarily before withdrawing from his chest and settling beside him, needing suddenly to see his face. Sensing her intent, he rolled onto his side to face her, propping his head up on his palm. With tremulous fingers, she traced the contours of his face stopping once and awhile to brush lightly over an etched line or a battle scar.

Fighting to remain still under the influence of her tentative caress, he watched her watching her fingers course over his features. He knew he had never seen anyone—anything—more beautiful.

"I remember you," she breathed, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I remember…" Her hand wrapped delicately around the back of his neck as she steadily directed his mouth to meet hers. Tentatively their lips touched once briefly, and then a second, lingering time.

As he withdrew from their kiss, he glanced down at her, desperate to see her reaction to the contact; his gaze softened when he saw her closed eyes and the small half- smile that clung to her lips. Watching her fondly as she lazily opened her eyes, he raised his eyebrow. "That was unexpected."

Her smile widened slightly. "Yeah," she agreed sheepishly. "It was."

Grinning down at her, he ran his fingers idly through her hair before bending down to capture her mouth once again with his, alert for any sign of her discomfort while savoring the sweet taste of her lips pressed gently against his own. Pulling back from their embrace, she gazed up at him for several long moments, her eyes bright and satisfied, as she adoringly scrutinized his features. Brushing the back of her first finger against his lips, she murmured, "We better get going if we don't want to get stuck in traffic."

Pressing his lips against her proffered finger, he nodded, acknowledging both her accurate assumption as well as her hesitancy to remain in such close quarters. Frankly, he was shocked—pleasantly so—that she had not only allowed but instigated such intimate contact with him so shortly after the onset of her trauma. Then again, if he had learned anything about Sam over the past five years it was that underestimation of her was to be strictly avoided.

Groaning reluctantly, he threw the blankets back and stepped out of the bed warmed by the combination of their bodies' heat. His arms stretched mightily over his head, he asked her, "You gonna shower?"

Her smile dissipated. "No," she answered. Quickly recovering, she added, "I'll just get my hair wet when you're done so it's not flying out in fifty million different directions." She shrugged playfully, "You know, be presentable and shit."

"Aw, but it's cute," he protested to her chagrin. "It's just me—you don't have to be presentable and shit. I've seen you dripping with sweat, slathered in grease paint, and hooked up to a dozen medical beeping thingies with wires plastered all over your face." Gathering his shower materials as a mischievous glint flicked in his eyes, he added, "Besides, I hear that 'bed head' thing is all the rage now."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know? You live in a mountain 28 stories underground."

"Cassie forgot her copy of Cosmo in my room when she came to visit last week," he retorted, his voice seeping with mock haughtiness.

She snorted and rolled her eyes slightly at his mention of the woman's magazine. "God, spare me," she muttered as she laid back down in bed, pulling the covers tightly over her body in a mock effort to end the banter.

Her disgust, however, only served to fuel the drive of his wit. "Hey, if it's in Cosmo it has to be true, right?"

She could hear his grin along the smooth delivery of his sentiment and groaned. "Just go shower."

"Yes, Ma'am." Grinning widely, he saluted her before disappearing into the bathroom.

-------------------------------------------------

After stopping briefly to grab a sizeable breakfast, their first meal in at least twenty hours, they resumed their travels northward, Jack mentioning that they should reach their destination in approximately eight hours.

Sam smiled appreciatively. "When you said 'get away from it all' you weren't kidding."

"Nope," he replied glibly. "I prefer to leave work at work during down time, especially if it's longer than a week or so."

She nodded, realizing just how dissimilar they were in that regard. "Vacation" was not something she engaged in often, prone as she was to haunt her lab even during their stand down periods. Having received plenty of flack for her workaholic tendencies in the past, she remained silent, opting to stare instead out of window at the passing farmland.

Jack remained intent on the highway unfurling before them. Having driven the route many times prior, he was confident that he could get them to Silver Bay intact even if he was blindfolded. Allowing his mind to wander as silence filled the cab, he indulged the concern for his companion that had been gnawing a hole in his gut since last night and began contemplating the events of the past twenty-four hours.

Two incidents; two panicked, desperately blatant incidents manifesting her inner turmoil had occurred thus far. He could not help but fear what lay on the horizon if she continued to shy away from his prodding inquiries. 'You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,' he had told her and had meant it—at the time. Now he was beginning to doubt the accuracy of his sentiment. She did need to talk about what happened regardless of her discomfort on the matter if she was ever to recover. Recover? Hell. If he did not know better, he would not think anything horrific had befallen her recently. Chalk one up for her military training from conception.

She had not eaten much at breakfast, merely picked at her omelet and hash browns; he knew she had to be even more ravenous than he had been. After all, she had consumed little in the past month, the results of which he had painfully noted last night—earlier this morning, whatever—as he had taken in the sharp protrusion of her hip bones against her taut skin and the sickly definition of her ribs along her sides. Glancing across at her hands now, he winced at the undeniable thinness of her fingers and the pronounced projection of her knuckles. He had never though of her as skinny; athletic and lean, yes, complete with the strength and confidence the terms imply. But never skinny. He would mention it to her when they stopped for lunch should she again ingest little.

"Jack?"

He blinked quickly at her inquiry, shrugging off his ruminations. Her hand delicately rested on the crook of his elbow, her eyes clouded with disquiet.

"Yeah?" he answered her, still somewhat distracted by the remaining wisps of his previous thoughts.

"You're going over eighty and your knuckles are turning a very interesting shade of purple," she told him, her voice quiet.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed as he caught sight of the speedometer. Eighty-six. Shit. Bringing the truck to an even, legal speed of sixty-five, he ripped his hands one at a time off of the steering wheel and shook them out, attempting to quell the impending nerve tingle and bring their color back to normal. Aware of Sam's gaze still fixed steadily on him, he turned briefly to her and flashed a brilliant smile. "Thanks. I must be more anxious to get there than I thought."

She nodded absently, obviously refusing to buy his cover. "Mm-hm," she mumbled. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

She sighed, her irritation catching him slightly off-guard. "That's not fair."

Cracking his knuckles in turn against the steering wheel, he frowned. "What's not fair?"

Crossing her arms over her body, she turned to look at him, her eyes flashing wildly. "If I can't hide behind 'fine' anymore, if you're going to ask me to drop the soldier act, then I'm going to ask the same of you. I'm not stupid. I've known you for five years; I think I know when something's wrong. Give me that much credit at least."

Straitening his shoulders, he abruptly pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the highway, parked it, and flicked his hazard lights on. Leaning forward to rest his head against the steering wheel, he heard her seatbelt unbuckle and felt the slight dip in the seat as she scooted closer towards him. He felt her hand rest on his back then, rubbing over the expanse in slow, soothing circles, a tactile reminder of her concern and…_love_ for him. She was waiting for him to say something. Anything, probably.

"God, Sam," he sighed resignedly, finally allowing himself the luxury of words. If he was to ask her to relate her trauma to him the least he could do was pave the way, no matter how much he hated doing so.

"What?" She asked after a prolonged silence, knowing that he was not one to think before speaking and wanting to grasp this opportunity to hear his thoughts. "Talk to me."

Lifting his head from the steering wheel, he turned to face her, his moist eyes taking her aback somewhat, intensifying her concern. He timidly cradled her jaw in his palm as his mouth opened slightly and then shut again, effectively silencing his attempted relegation.

Moving his hand away from her face, she grasped it firmly in both of hers, silently willing him the strength to continue. "Tell me," she whispered, her voice urgent, almost pleading.

He closed his eyes briefly before beginning again, wishing that words came more naturally to him. Staring down at their joined hands, he began hesitantly. "When they brought you back that first time, I…I knew what they had done to you." He paused, suddenly uncomfortable and unsure of how to proceed, knowing only that he had to. "God, I wanted to kill them." Glancing up, his aggrieved eyes fell into hers as tears coursed silently down her fair cheeks. Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, drawing her close to his body, as a deluge of words unexpectedly found their way across his lips. "And when you told me that they were coming for you again and that there was nothing we could do…I couldn't even tell them to take me instead."

"I wouldn't have let you," she muttered against his tear-stained shoulder. "I wouldn't have let them do that to you."

A ragged breath escaped his lips in disgust. "That's what I always told myself, too."

Curious, she pulled away from him slightly, her dampened face etched with confusion. "What you told yourself?"

He nodded and gently pushed her head back towards his shoulder, needing to feel her, whole and complete, resting against his body. "I always knew this was a possibility. Daniel and I talked about it once, actually, after that run in at the beginning with the Mongols. I thought about it every time we walked through that gate…how there are worse things out there than death. I always told myself that I wouldn't let them hurt you like…that." She felt his throat convulse as he swallowed harshly.

She was speechless in the face of his pain. Never would she have assumed that her attack would have caused him this measure of pain; but apparently, as evidenced by the tears falling softly from his closed eyes, it had. Wordlessly, she wound her arms around his body, hugging him tightly to her in reassurance, for herself as much as him, and drew her legs up onto the seat beside her so that her body was completely nestled against his. She hoped that this, her show of trust in him, would help alleviate some of his grief, assuage at least a small part of the ache.

They rested in each other's arms, tears falling freely from them both, for several heart rending minutes. When Jack began lightly rubbing her back, Sam pulled away from him, looking deep into the essence of his tear-stained face. Brushing her fingers gently over his lips, her eyes slipped closed as he kissed her fingertips; watching her intently, he wound his hand around her jaw, spurring her eyes open and eliciting a small gasp at the unexpected contact.

Gazing intently at her, he whispered, "I will never, _ever_ hurt you."

Still unable to speak, Sam simply nodded as she wrapped her fingers around the nape of his neck and brought their lips together in a long, tender kiss fraught with understanding and promise. She reveled in his gentleness, he, in her willingness; both found forgiveness and patience awaiting them readily in the heart of the other.

-----------------------------------------------------

"There's a Borders Books up here on the left. You wanna stop for awhile?"

Sam smiled broadly at him, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "You even have to ask?"

He grinned. "Yeah, it was a stupid question, wasn't it?" Clicking the blinker, he exited the freeway and entered the turning lane. After their emotional pit stop, Sam had remained curled up next to him, dozing off every now and again, lulled to sleep by the combination of the radio and his presence. Their conversation had relieved him, much more so than he assumed it would, and he had found a new, passionate hope in her ease around him. That, more than anything else, served to alleviate his tension; in the back of his mind, he had feared that she would continue to shy away from him like she had during their last night on P3X-275. However, that was far from the case. She had even mentioned that, after Jack had crawled into bed with her and wrapped her securely in his arms, her nightmares had not returned, she had slept peacefully, much like she had en route to Des Moines. Although she had not mentioned it, he surmised that they would spend the rest of their nights together, each taking comfort in the other's embrace.

Pulling into the parking lot, Jack quickly turned the truck off and hopped out of the cab, eager to stretch his legs after the long drive. "You know," he muttered to Sam as she looped her arm around his waist and they walked towards the building, "As much as I like driving, after traveling halfway across the galaxy in seconds, crossing a quarter of the country in twenty hours is starting to lose its appeal."

She giggled. "Patience not your forte?" she responded, her eyes shining under the haze of the midday sun.

"Yeah," he sighed, his eyes sparkling, as he opened the door for her. "You've noticed that, huh?"

"Only every other mission or so."

He grinned and pushed her gently through the open door. "Get in there."

His mock disgust only served to increase the wattage of her smile and he found himself lost momentarily in its intensity. "I'm gonna run up to the café and grab a cup of coffee," she said, breaking his reverie. "You want something?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," he said, surprised at the gesture. "Plain coffee. Black. No frills."

"No frilly coffee," she repeated, her eyes sparkling. "Got it."

He grinned at her as she walked away, noticing not for the first time the endearing arch her left arm inevitably made as she strode towards completing her mission. As she rounded the corner and disappeared from his line of sight, he felt an odd twinge in the pit of his stomach and realized that this was the first time since they had left the Springs that they had not been within visual range of each other. He shook himself mentally, attempting to convince his brain that nothing horrible could happen to her in such a public, civilian, non-threatening environment. However, he knew that he would not be totally at ease until she was back beside him again.

-------------------------------------------------------

Sam swallowed a bitter pang in the back of her throat as she stepped away from Jack, quite aware that she was not accustomed to being apart from him. She supposed that the distance was good; a proving ground of sorts that would demonstrate to both of them that she was safe, even disengaged from his side. Rounding the corner of the second story, she walked over to the line in front of the register, shocked to find herself scanning the room for possible assailants. A deep fear elbowed its way into her throat, winding itself around her lungs and stomach, chasing away her breath and cramping her abdominal muscles. Forcing her gaze to the menu, she attempted to mentally calm herself down, reassuring herself that she was in the middle of a very communal area; should anyone attack her, not only was she trained to deal with such assaults, but those around her would most likely jump to her aid as well.

"What can I get for you, miss?" The elderly gentleman behind the counter smiled warmly at her, startling her back into the present.

Sam endeavored to return his smile, but failed miserably, electing instead to prattle off her order, wincing internally as her voice quavered. "Just two small coffees, please."

"All right," he said, still smiling, as he punched the appropriate keys, oblivious to her discomfort. "Two dollars and ninety-seven cents, please."

Somehow through the slight tremor in her hands, she managed to pull three dollar bills out of her wallet, accept the empty coffee cups, and deposit the three pennies in the change box on the counter. Thanking the man, Sam resituated her purse strap on her shoulder and filled the cups, cursing as her hands continued to tremble, causing the hot liquid to spatter onto her hand. Grimacing, she grabbed the full cups and walked over to the coffee condiment island, ridding her skin of the offending liquid with a rough swipe. Hoping that she was not as conspicuous as she felt, she forced herself to take a deep calming breath before swirling cream and sugar into the dark depths of her coffee. Placing lids and heat wraps firmly onto the cups, she tried not to think about the fact that a simple task like purchasing coffee at a café had put her through the emotional wringer. How would she respond in two months when she was expected to resume her duties at the SGC?

_Stop it, Sam_, she chastised herself. _Two months is not tomorrow. You'll make it._ With great difficulty, she managed to stop her brain from continuing its previous train of thought. Squaring her shoulders and moderating the tension that had accumulated in her face and neck, she descended the stairs to search for Jack.

Realizing that he had not told her where he would be, she quickly scanned the room for his beautiful, graying head. _Not in fiction, I'm guessing he's not in children's books, or magazines, or art…_ She was about to cross to the science section when she heard a familiar cough emanating from somewhere behind her. Turning the corner, she smiled as she spotted him in—_psychology?_ She thought, somewhat mystified at his choice of perusal. Absently dismissing her confusion, she walked up beside him and held out his coffee, almost dropping it onto the book he held as she caught its title.

_**When the Woman You Love is Raped**_

There was that word. She had avoided it ever since P3X-275 and even now she was not prepared to accept its reality. Even Jack had not voiced it in her presence, perhaps sensing her consternation on the subject, using instead 'attack' or 'incident' or 'what happened on that god-damned planet.' She did not want to hear the word 'rape.' She did not want to see it. She could not associate it with herself, with what had happened to her.

Suddenly, the weight of both cups had left her hands and she was being held tightly against Jack's warm, welcoming chest. Forcing herself to relax into his embrace, she accepted it fully, winding her arms around him and resting her hands lightly on his back. After a few moments, she stepped away from him, mindful of his arm still rounding the small of her back, and gently took the book from him, steeling herself against the sudden onslaught of unnamable emotion when she again saw the title. Turning the material over, she quickly skimmed the back cover, noting that the author had elected anonymity, but that, while he was not a professional, he had great experience with the subject matter. Eyes still fixed on the paperback, she cleared her throat before hesitantly inquiring, "This is applicable to you?"

She felt his arm tighten around her waist as he pressed his lips softly to her temple. "Yeah," he whispered into her hair after a moment. "Yeah, it is." Leaning against him, she struggled to accept the implications of the title in light of his sentiment; '…_the woman you love_…' She had known, she admitted to herself. She had known long ago, but had failed to hope in the eventuality of their conjoining due to their military stations. But all of the politics had fallen by the wayside now, the importance of regulations and propriety substantially dwarfed by the immediacy and necessity of their emotional consummation.

Yes, she decided. Yes, she had known. But this was one hell of a way to find out from him.

As if reading her mind, he plucked the book from her fingers and replaced it with her coffee, whispering, "This isn't exactly how I wanted to tell you." He offered her an apologetic half-smile as he tucked the book under his arm and grabbed his cup from the shelf. Entwining their free hands, he scrutinized her carefully, the beaming florescent lights casting a sickly haze over her face. As he gently began directing her towards the registers, her hand suddenly squirmed out of his grasp. Instinctively, he knew she needed time to think, to contemplate the headiness of his admission.

"I need some air," she offered before weaving away from him and in and out of the bright displays of new releases and discounted items; he watched her lean heavily against the outside brick wall, her eyes wide and unfocused, her hair tousled by the breeze.

Sighing, he tore his gaze from her and slid the book onto the check out counter. As Jack reached for his wallet, the cashier took the purchase in his hand and flipped it over, searching, Jack thought, for the UPC strip.

"This is a good one," the man said softly, running the scanner over the identification tag. "The guy really knows his stuff."

Taken slightly aback at the man's forthrightness, Jack stared at him for a second before his military mask softened, making way for the humanness beneath it. Unable to form an intelligent response, he settled for nodding at the cashier's candor. Thanking the cashier, he shook himself out of his pitying stupor and exited the store, eager to gather Sam back into his truck and continue their trek up north.

They naturally gravitated towards each other as Jack left the building and fixed his sunglasses across the bridge of his nose. Enveloping her hand in his, they silently walked back to the truck, their minds disparately intense, but placated by the firm, tangible reminder of the other mere inches away.

------------------------------------------------

Sam groaned softly as the truck bounced over a pothole, causing the fabric of her bra to brush roughly against the gashes across her breasts. Pulling her legs tightly against her chest, she attempted to alleviate part of the ache by placing gentle, steady pressure on her injuries with her knees. The added weight helped somewhat, but she made a mental note to grab a few aspirin out of her duffle bag the next time they stopped.

Damning herself repeatedly for her awkward predicament—coddling her breasts, injured by her own hand in front of Jack—she continued to deprecate herself for not detecting the impetus to her loss of control last night. As uncontrolled as she felt now, she yearned to feel blissfully restricted, at least in her own company. She gasped slightly as they sped over a dip in the highway, pain driving into the delicate swells cradled tenderly against her knees.

Her soft cry garnered Jack's attention; his brow furrowed as he drank in her huddled, cringing frame. "Hey," he said softly, turning the radio off. "You okay?"

Taking a deep breath, she sat up in her seat, not wanting to continue their conversation while in the fetal position, and looked straight ahead, out at the road before them. Placing a protective hand across the top of her left breast, she nodded. "Yeah," she said hesitantly, shifting in her seat slightly. "I just…hurt."

Momentarily confused, he glanced down at the conspicuous placement of her hand, his eyes widening in realization. "Oh…" Snapping back to the road before them, he indicated to the glove box in front of her. "There's a first aid kit in there; I popped a few extra packages of aspirin in it right before we left."

After locating the kit, she pulled three single-dose packages of aspirin from the box, ripped them open, and washed the pills down with a deep draught from her water bottle. "Thanks," she said, wiping the back of her hand across her upper lip.

Glancing at her askance, he nodded slightly, his brow still furrowed in puzzlement. Sensing an impending question or reprimand, her back slowly melded into the upholstery of the truck, sinking as far as she could from his inquiries. Unable to tolerate his taciturnity any longer, she spoke up, her throat suddenly constricted and quite dry. "What?"

He had been 'zoning' himself, she realized abruptly when she watched his eyes refocus and blink several times. "Huh?" he said, genuinely unaware of her question.

"There's something you want to ask me," she replied matter-of-factly, her eyes narrowing to slits as she observed minute alterations in the set of his jaw, the height of his shoulders. "I wish you would."

Pausing contemplatively, he pursed his lips, running his tongue along the outer rim of his teeth. Finally, he said, "You just took six aspirin. I was going to say something about overdosing, but then I realized that you probably…need that many." His insight and willingness to explicate his consternation took her slightly aback; jolting slightly when his fingers brushed the back of her hand, she looked up at him, her eyes beginning to waver as he exhorted, "Just don't go overboard, okay?"

Nodding being her only option as her voice seemed to have inexplicably vanished, she utilized it and trembled with a sudden, gut-wrenching cold. Over the span of a twenty second conversation, Jack had translated the garbled whine that had ached in the back of her mind for the past week.

_Make the pain go away._ _I don't care how, just make it stop._

She recognized the implication of her thoughts immediately and, though she did not think that her condition warranted such drastic action, perhaps this was just another facet of her denial.

_I don't care how, just make it stop._

The words tumbled through her narrowing field of thought, bringing them into the light of a waning reality. The sight was harrowing; in the face of their implication, she unconsciously drew her knees, fraught with slight tremors, to her chest again, wrapped the bone-thinness of her arms around their slight girth, and clung to them, her knuckles whitening under the strain.

_I don't care how, just make it stop._

But she did care. She did. She was not so far gone that she would invite the welcoming embrace of self-annihilation. No. That was not an option.

_I don't care how…just make it stop…._

…_I don't care how…_

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She had fallen asleep hours ago and for that he was thankful. After she had succumbed to a deep reverie that he had been powerless to stop or call her back from, she had dropped slowly into sleep, her muscles remaining taunt, alert for an inordinate length of time. Eventually, however, the tension throughout her limbs had dissipated leaving only faint stress lines etched around her eyes and mouth in its wake.

Every now and again a whimper would escape her throat, the skin around her eyes crease, and the corners of her mouth dip in response to the headiness of her dreams. But she was sleeping, he told himself; he should not wake her, he should not call her out of that sleep-deluded reality and into this one like he had several times prior. Perhaps she needed this mental immersion into her own hell to expedite her recovery; perhaps she would open herself to him, allowing him access to the deep-seated fears now harbored in the stronghold of her warrior's heart. Perhaps this was the prodding she needed, bourn not of outside stimuli but that of her own conjuring.

Right.

He reached across the bench seat and gripped the hand lying limply in her lap unable to withhold his comfort from her any longer. The force of her reciprocal strength shocked him; her fingers tightened immediately around his own, numbingly clenching his bones together. His discomfort was instantly justified, however; when her lips, dry and tight, parted to allow a strained, distant breath to pass.

"Jack…" she murmured through sleep, her hand lessening its grip and the lines slowly melting from the worn skin of her face.

His vision fogging suddenly, he kept his eyes trained on the road ahead of them as he ran his thumb over the soft skin of her hand. "I'm right here, baby," he whispered. "I'm right here."

* * *

_mabynn (at) gmail (dot) com_


	3. Reassurance, pt ii

_(Psst! This is the second half of the second part.)_

* * *

Alea Iacta Est 

Part II

Reassurance

* * *

"Fruit Loops, Corn Pops, or Coco Puffs?" 

"How 'bout Grapenuts?"

"How 'bout no."

"Cheerios?"

"Honey Nut?"

"Deal."

Jack tossed the box into the already laden cart and started down the cereal isle once more. Wrinkling his nose in mock distaste as Sam plucked a box of flavored oatmeal from the shelf and placed it in the cart, he muttered, "MRE's taste better than that stuff."

Smiling as she elbowed him lightly in the ribs, she replied, "At least they don't all taste like chicken."

"Yeah, these taste like saw dust. Big improvement."

She rolled her eyes at him and threw a box of apple cinnamon NutriGrain bars on top of the Cheerios, turning when he gasped in disapproval.

"Would ya stop with the healthy crap already?" His deep brown eyes sparkled at her, belying his irritation. "The point of vacation is to sit around, relax, and rot your teeth with junk food. Health nut, whole wheat, ultra-healthy junk totally goes against the standards of your average vacationing American."

Pulling a box of chocolate-covered, chocolate chunk granola bars to her chest, she raised her eyebrows, staring at him in feigned indignation. "These better?"

He grinned, wheeling up beside her to pluck the package from her fingers. "Much. I knew you could get the hang of this." She smiled wryly up at him and pulled her navy blue sweat jacket tighter around her body as she fell into step close beside him, their arms brushing against each other every so often.

After he had taken her hand earlier, she had fallen into a more peaceful sleep only to awaken naturally as the truck bounded into Silver Bay. They were now at a small grocery store stocking up on necessities for the next weeks; finding they had many similar tastes—breakfast food excluded—took them by surprise. When Sam had passed the vegetable section, Jack had expected her to bag several heads of exotic lettuce. Instead, she had come back with a one pound bag of baby carrots and small head of cauliflower.

"What? No green stuff?" He had asked, legitimately surprised.

Wrinkling her nose, she replied, "I hate green stuff." After holding up her obviously not green vegetables briefly in point, she stowed them in the cart. Shrugging her slim shoulders, she added, "It's a texture thing."

They had since perused most of the store and filled the majority of their cart with sundry foodstuffs, as well as two cases of Honey Weiss, and various cleaning supplies and paper products. After topping the load off with two cases of Pepsi, one regular, one diet, Jack turned a satisfied eye to his companion. "Well, Major, I would say this mission has been quite the success."

She cocked her eyebrow at him playfully. "Agreed, sir."

"Shall we proceed to get the hell out of here?"

"Sounds good to me, sir."

Snatching a candy bar from a passing display case and showing it pointedly to her, he muttered, "_This_ sounds good to me."

Rolling her eyes at him for the umpteenth time, she smiled in spite of herself. "What was that you said about rotting your teeth out?"

He smiled at her comment as he began unloading their selections onto the conveyor belt. "It's all part of the vacation experience, Sam." Shrugging, he added, "Besides, I brush my teeth. When I remember."

-----------------------------------------------

"What are you getting?"

Jack's eyebrow quirked, augmenting the brilliant spark that lit his eye. "Something dead, cooked, and on a bun," he quipped. "A bacon double cheeseburger. With onion rings and extra pickles. No green stuff."

His companion's menu fell several inches then, revealing her eyes set askance at him. "You're a pickle person?"

"Yeah, I'm a pickle person." Narrowing his vision slightly as Sam perceptibly shifted from doubt to wonderment, he asked, "Is there something wrong with that?"

Shrugging, she glanced up at him briefly before returning to her perusal of the menu. "I just never took you to be a pickle person."

"Are you a pickle person?"

Involuntarily her nose wrinkled in disgust and her body was riddled with slight abhorrent tremors. "Hell no! Much too salty. Besides, they make me physically ill."

"You allergic to cucumbers?"

"Only my taste buds. They start foaming and convulsing. It's not pretty."

He smiled wryly at her dead-pan delivery, his sarcastic rebuttal abruptly eclipsed by their waiter's appearance. The young man smiled warmly at them, his pen hovering inches above the notepad in his hand. "Good afternoon. I'm Brent, I'll be your server. Are you ready to order or do you need a couple more minutes?"

Jack glanced from Brent to Sam, his pleasant expression and ease evaporating when he observed her hunched shoulders and cautious, persistent stare boring into the plastic casing of the menu. Squinting at the top of her head, the only part of her visible as she effectively barricaded herself behind her laminated fortress, he beckoned her, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance. "Sam? Honey, do you know what you're getting?" His gentle inquiry elicited no response from her; he felt surely that his use of an endearment in public would garner a glare at the least.

Looking up quickly at the waiter, Jack flashed him a brilliant smile while his foot searched under the table for his companion's ankle. "I guess we need a few more minutes, Brent."

Casting a wary glance in Sam's direction, the young man nodded, his consternation replaced with his requisite waiter's charm, and began turning from the table.

"No," Sam piped up suddenly, her eyes and face reinstated with their typical ease. Jack had located her foot, her sandals having been shed upon their being seated, and had begun to gently massage the area around the bone protrusion at the base of her ankle with pad of his big toe. Apparently the contact had been enough to snap Sam out of her reverie. Flashing both men a thousand watt smile, she added sheepishly, "Sorry. I get kind of wrapped up in these decisions."

Brent shrugged, waiter's smile still firmly in place, and clicked his pen against the back of the notepad. "Not a problem. So, what can I get for you two today?"

-------------------------------------------------

Sam heaved a great, relieved sigh as she watched Brent's retreating reflection in the portrait glass hanging on the wall opposite her. His appearance had caught her off-guard; he came from out of nowhere, from somewhere behind her, his sudden presence unexpected and disconcerting. Entwining her fingers tightly in her lap, her back still curved slightly from the sudden onslaught of panic, she began to roll her head forward, stretching the taunt muscles of her back and neck in an effort to alleviate their swelling tension. Jack's foot shifted then against hers under the table; she opened one eye under an eyebrow arched in curiosity. Seeing the concern etched blatantly across his face, she stopped stretching and focused on a small spot on the carpet just beyond his right shoulder.

"I didn't…expect him to be there," she said timidly after enduring a moment of his subtle, silent inquiries. "Just took me by surprise, I guess. I'm okay now. Thanks." Offering him a small smile that actually reached her eyes, she started slightly when he held out his hand for hers, his steely expression startling her into cognizance of the implications of what she had just said. Hesitantly placing her hand in his, she forced herself to meet his gaze, her penitent air settling around them like sand.

He said nothing, communicating all that needed to be said through their distant, yet surprisingly intimate contact. _I know better,_ his eyes told her. _You're not okay now. And you won't be for awhile._ After a few precious moments, Jack spoke, his words soft and low amongst the clatter of knives against porcelain. "I can see the knots in your shoulders from here. I don't suppose you'd be up for a back massage later, huh?"

Lips upturned in a small, thankful smile, she nodded. "I would like that," she replied, her muscles easing at the mere thought of his strong, supple hands kneading away the accumulated tension in her back and neck.

Squeezing her hand, he smiled warmly at her. "Good." He released her hand and took a short swig of his Pepsi before asking her, "Have you been able to remember anything else?"

Air rushed audibly into her lungs; her body melded into the corner of the booth as she brought her knees up to cradle her chin. "No," she answered quietly. "I've, uh, actually been trying to forget what little I do remember."

"Good luck with that."

She glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Jack merely shrugged. "Just what I said. Good luck. You'll need it."

Her eyebrows furrowing, she raised her head somewhat before eyeing him suspiciously. "Is this some of that infamous Jack O'Neill sarcasm?"

"What? You can't tell the difference by now?" Jack smiled wryly at her. "I'm disappointed."

Sam narrowed her eyes at him, obviously quite disgruntled at his continued air of nonchalance, and released his hand. "If there's something you want to say to me, I would appreciate hearing it straight out instead of listening to you dilly-dally around the point."

Eyebrows arched in surprise at her outburst, Jack sat back against the booth and regarded her unabashedly for several moments. Finally, he said, "Don't try."

"What?"

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table top, he absently began chasing the ice around his glass with his straw. "To forget. Don't try," he repeated. "It's not worth it." He began to draw the dark liquid half-way through the straw, stop the suction with his finger, lift the tube from the glass and then release soda back against the ice. Repeating this several times in the dearth of her continued conversation, he added, "It's better to talk about it. Get it off your chest." He winced, remembering the events of the previous night, and dropped the straw back into his glass. "Sorry," he muttered. "Bad choice of words."

But Sam did not notice his faux pas. She had become silent once again, staring intently at the grain of the mahogany table top. As he opened his mouth to speak again, she murmured, "I don't know how to do that."

"Don't know how to do what? Talk about it?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I haven't really **talk** talked since my mom died. Dad wasn't big on conversation."

Silently consenting this point, Jack racked his brain for suggestions. Finally, he decided on,  
"You could tell me what you remember. Let me know what goes on in your dreams. What you think about when you zone out on me."

"You said I didn't have to talk about '275 if I didn't want to."

Jack winced. "Yeah, about that. I've rethought what I said." Leaning towards her, he reached out and placed a gentle hand on her knee, eliciting a slight start from her small frame. Her eyes wide and painfully vulnerable, she stared him, silently begging him not to continue. He did anyway. "I'm not going to harp on it, Sam. I won't make you talk if you're not ready." Sensing her continued hesitance, he added softly, "And it's all right if you're scared. I wou—" Catching sight of their waiter heading towards them armed with a tray bearing their meals, he stopped mid-sentence and uttered, "Brent's on your six."

Her eyebrows furrowed momentarily before her mind connected 'Brent' to 'waiter' and 'waiter' to 'impending intrusion by an unknown male.' By the time the young man had woven his way through the spattering of tables and patrons, Sam had adequately prepared herself for his arrival, and even offered him a gracious smile as he placed her grilled chicken sandwich and French fries in front of her. After ensuring that the couple had everything they required to maximize their enjoyment of their meal—and thereby maximize his tip—Brent left them to begin his standard rounds of the restaurant.

Eyeing his cheeseburger greedily, Jack spread his napkin across his leg, muttering, "Thank god for leave." A smile broke across Sam's face as he took a huge bite out of his burger, leaving tell-tale dabs of ketchup and mustard at the corners of his mouth. Looking up as she chuckled softly, he managed, "Wha?" around his mouthful of food.

"Your lunch left a little something…" she said softly, smiling as she reached across the table to whisk away the excess condiments with the corner of her napkin. "There."

"I was saving that," he protested with mock indignation, his mouth still quite full. "Condiments are precious, ya know. How often do we get the luxury of ketchup out in the field?"

Sam grinned and conceded the point as she dunked a pair of her fries in their "luxury" condiment. "We can raid a McDonald's for ketchup packets on the way back to base."

His eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Now there's a thought." Smiling slightly with satisfaction as he watched her polish off the fries in her hand and then tuck into her sandwich, he picked up an onion ring and, after dousing it thoroughly in ketchup, shoved the entire thing into his mouth, relishing the its salty sweetness. "Oh, yeah," he said. "So much better than MRE's."

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Almost there, Sam," Jack muttered as yet another pained gasp issued from between her lips. "Just around this grove." The road was in disrepair, more a collection of potholes and washboards than actual gravel. Every dip in the road jostled Sam's injuries; she was dully aware that several of them were unnaturally warm, indicative of superficial infection. She would need assistance to re-bandage them and she was loathe to ask Jack for that help, despite his previous respectful dealings with her nakedness.

"And here we are," Jack said with a flourish. "Hotel de O'Neill. Complete with electricity, running water, AC, and a deck-side stream perfect for fishing and throwing your second into."

"Hey now," Sam warned, unbuckling her seatbelt. "There will be none of that on this trip. This second doesn't swim in mucky streams unless the fate of some planet is hanging in the balance and she's getting paid."

"If I give you five bucks can I throw you in?"

"Tempting offer, but no. Sorry."

"Dammit," Jack muttered under his breath. Smiling as she slapped his arm good-naturedly, he said, "Let's get the groceries and the rest of our stuff in and then I'll give you the grand tour."

"Actually," she began hesitantly, hating having to even ask her impending question. "Before that tour, I was wondering if you could give me a hand, um…re-bandaging. I'm a little worried about infection."

His eyes widened somewhat. "Infection? I slathered each one with antibiotic cream. They hurt that much?"

Sam nodded. "And they feel a bit warm."

"Damn," he muttered. "Yeah, okay." Jack parked the truck and turned it off, handing her the keys after he had pulled them out of the ignition. Holding up a well-worn bronze key, he said, "That'll get you into the cabin. The bathroom is through the living room and across from the bedrooms. I think there's some first aid stuff under the sink. Go see what you can dig up and I'll get the groceries in."

Nodding her agreement, she exited the vehicle and made her way up to the front door. The key turned easily in the lock and door slipped silently open to reveal a dark, pine-scented room, quite large by cabin standards.

"Switch is to your left," Jack called from the path, his arms laden with their purchases. After filling the room with a dim, soothing light, she crossed through the living room—the "quite large" room—and found both the bedrooms and the bathroom without a problem. Taking a deep breath, she turned the light on in the bathroom and was surprised by its spaciousness. Two sinks and a wall-to-wall mirror filled one end of the room while a toilet and a shower—easily large enough to accommodate two—filled the opposite end. Two adults could easily co-exist—well, co-attend-to-hygiene—in the space that remained.

Shifting her attention to the cabinet under the sink, Sam located all of the required materials for dressing her wounds and placed them on the counter. "Found everything all right?" Jack asked from the doorway. Startled, she spun around, her hands upraised defensively and her breath quickening before she realized who was behind her. Sighing audibly with relief when she saw him, she closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the countertop trying to regulate her breath. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered sheepishly as he gently embraced her being mindful of her sore breasts, and then placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. "You okay? No aneurysms or anything?"

Silently she shook her head and wound one arm around his waist, drawing him closer. "You're sweaty," she murmured against his shoulder; when she did not withdraw from him, he figured the comment was an observation, not a chastisement.

"Yep," he smiled. "We bought a lot of food." As she looked up at him, he continued. "And I'm an old guy. Old guys sweat."

"You're not old," she reproved, smiling slightly. "You're old**er**, but you're definitely not old."

Jack grinned. "Oh, old**er**. Well, then I feel much better."

"You're welcome," her voice indicative of a broad smile.

They embraced for several minutes, Jack eager to offer her as much comfort as she needed, before he tenderly rested his cheek on the top of her head. "You ready to have a look at those cuts?"

She stiffened against him, but nodded after several brief moments. Disengaging himself from her embrace, he patted the countertop and she obligingly eased herself onto it. She had shed her sweatshirt in the truck and was now seated before him in a white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting denim overalls. Comfort had been her main goal when she had dressed this morning, he knew, but even so, she looked adorable. Right now, however, sitting on his cabin's bathroom counter, she looked adorable and terrified. He had been surprised when she had asked him to help her bandage her wounds; but he could not help but also be a little pleased. Still, she was nervous—painfully so.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked her softly, gently brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. He watched as she drew a deep breath and slowly, her hands trembling, unfastened the button clasps of her overalls, the straps falling limply away from her shoulders. As she reached for opposite sides of her shirt to pull it over her head, she gasped, her face pained, and immediately pressed her arms protectively over her breasts.

Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, he held her head to his chest for a moment until the tension eased from her body. Wordlessly, he collected the hem of her shirt in both hands and gingerly brought it up and over her body, his hands keeping the fabric clear of her injuries. He winced as he saw the bruises, still rough shades of purple, mottling her skin, but quickly jumped into action as he took note of two splotches of blood that had seeped through the beige material of her bra.

Grabbing a hand towel from a drawer beside him, Jack unfurled it and placed it against her chest. Recognizing his intent, Sam held the towel over her breasts as he wrapped his arms around her and gently unhooked her bra. He drew the straps over her shoulders and held the towel in place for her as she removed the garment completely, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she caught sight of the two small bloodstains.

"Is my shirt stained?" she asked softly, peering around him to look at the fabric.

He shook his head. "No. I don't think it got that far."

Nodding, she placed her hand over the towel, releasing Jack to ready the necessary materials. Finally, he saturated a cotton ball with alcohol and turned back to her.

"Ready?"

Again, she nodded and shifted the towel over right shoulder, exposing her left breast. Startled by his low whistle, she glanced up and saw his eyes widen as he surveyed the damage. "Well, two of them bled through four layers of gauze, but the rest don't look too bad," he said softly as he whisked the cotton ball across the cuts he had left bare and silently fumed as he caught sight of the bite mark rounding her breast's swell. After depositing the used cotton in the garbage can, he gently cupped her cheek and directed her eyes into his own. "I'm going to have to touch you in order to get the bandages off and put new ones on. Is that all right?"

Closing her eyes, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded slightly. When his hand did not leave her face, but instead asserted a gentle, insistent pressure to look up, she obliged, curious. The warmth that spilled from Jack's eyes caught her off-guard, yet alleviated some of her built up fear.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered earnestly. "Well," he amended, "not on purpose anyway. Ripping off bandages always sucks." He smiled as she chuckled weakly at his attempt at humor. Caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers, he continued softly, "Just remember that it's me."

Placated by the light spark of determination in her eyes, he turned back to her breast and started to ease one of the bandages from her flesh. Attempting to evade both the cuts and the bruises proved difficult, but Jack managed the operation having only to apologize once in response to her sudden gasp. He acknowledged to himself the beauty of her body despite its unnatural thinness as he studiously cleansed her wounds, and cursed for the umpteenth time the alien doctrine that had driven her to the injuries. Pained, he realized that the two deepest cuts would leave serious scar tissue in the wake of their healing…that they probably should have received professional medical attention. However, something told him that she would be adverse to the idea and immediately dismissed it. Instead, he asked the same question he had that morning, hoping this time for a better reception.

"Have you remembered what made you do this?" The question was quiet, almost tentative, asked while he smoothed antibiotics over her wounds and gently covered them with gauze. Standing upright, he scrutinized her for a moment—she was lost in thought again, her eyes distant, shadowed by unspoken fears—and then softly brushed her hair away from her face, his hand rounding the back of her head to encircle the nape of her neck. His other hand gently tipped her chin up to look at him; he saw her eyes but her eyes did not see him. Dilated pupils hid what remained of her crystal blue irises and the faint spark he had detected minutes before had now vanished.

Tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertip, he whispered her name in an effort to coax her back into time with him. But she did not respond. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around her bare shoulders and gathered her comfortably against his chest; he slowly rocked her from side to side, all the while whispering encouragements and dropping light kisses on the top of her head. He was about to scrap the idea of redressing her other injuries and instead carry her to the master bedroom when he felt her tremulous intake of breath.

"I felt them…" she began, her voice like an echo. "…all over my body…I couldn't get away…th-they wouldn't let me get away." Tears began descending from her eyes in small rivulets, the immensity of her pain augmented by the soft tapping of the salty fluid against his skin as they fell from her cheekbones. Her arms tightened around him, her body racked with tremors and her nails digging desperately into his skin as if yearning to crawl into the haven of his very being.

"I wanted to scream," she continued, her tone flagging somewhat as she delineated her weaknesses. "…but…but I _couldn't_. Couldn't breathe. I couldn't run, couldn't fight…_god_. I just wanted them to stop…touching me." Suddenly she thrust her body away from his, her hands gripping his upper arms tightly and her eyes pouring wildly, madly into his own. "God! They shouldn't touch me…shouldn't—make them stop!" Pupils widely dilated and surrounded by tears, she gazed at him helplessly, her emotional nakedness rending his heart. "Please make them stop…I can't…_Please_…" The entreaty spilled from her lips over and over again, her voice hushed and near breaking.

Summoning his resolve, he gently took Sam's trembling face in between his hands, her own descending from his upper arms to cling frantically to his wrists. He watched her watching him, her throat convulsing harshly as she swallowed, momentarily breaking the rhythm of her mantra. "Sam," he said softly, resisting the urge to hold her against him until this waking nightmare passed. "Sam," he repeated when she failed to respond, his voice a bit louder, more authoritative. The hushed plea ceased its repetition, apparently shocked from her consciousness by his tone, and every pore, every measure of her energy affixed itself to him, to the words formed by his tongue, lips, and teeth.

Brushing his thumbs lightly across her cheeks, he whispered, "They are not here anymore."

Immediately her face crumpled painfully and fresh tears pooled across her blue irises. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "Yes, they are…"

"No," he said firmly, his grip intensifying on her face, causing her eyes to widen slightly. "No, they are **not**. It's just you and me, Sam. Just you and me." He paused, consciously loosening his grip and softening his gaze. Raggedly, she drew two deep breaths, attempting to reconcile his words with her beliefs. "You're remembering them, baby. And, god, I know it hurts, but that's all they are. A memory. Just a memory." Slowly pulling her against his chest, he enveloped her in his arms. When he spoke next, his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but held every ounce of confidence he could muster. "They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe, all right?" He felt her nod slightly against the fabric of his shirt and gently kissed her tousled hair. "You're safe."

As the reality of his words dawned partially on her fear encrusted consciousness, Sam's eyes welled up again, reconciled this time in a span of uncontrolled, unabashed sobs. She was _safe_. Here, in Jack's arms, she was indeed safe.

------------------------------------------------------

Jack did not know how long they had spent in the bathroom and frankly he did not care. He did care about the gradual lessening of Sam's sobbing into infrequent sniffles and her mental return to reality. Fully aware of her state of undress, he located the hand towel that had been relinquished at some point and, slowly pulling away from her, placed it again over her chest, covering her nakedness. She accepted the cloth gratefully, holding it against her body with a trembling hand. Stepping away from her to rip off a length of toilet paper, Jack handed it to her, remaining silent for a moment as she blew her nose.

"You want to take a shower while I get the rest of our stuff in?" he asked, his voice still hushed. "It might help."

She shook her head slowly, unable to look at him. "No," she answered, matching his tone. "I don't want to…" she trailed off and shakily drew a deep breath before continuing, her voice nearly inaudible. "I don't want to risk a repeat of last night."

"Ah…" he muttered, suddenly understanding her reticence. "How about a bath? You can leave the door open; I'll be just across the hall getting stuff put away." When she did not answer, he cupped her chin in his palm and tenderly directed her to face him. "Remember—you're safe. It's just you and me and I'm not coming in unless you call me, all right?"

"Will you?" She asked suddenly, an earnestness flickering against her pupils.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Will I come if you call? Of course I wi—"

"No," she interrupted him, placing a settling hand on his chest. "I mean, will you…" She trailed off as her uncertainty became more apparent. Biting her lip, she looked away from him, embarrassed suddenly by her own desire.

"Will I what, Sam?" Jack probed, curious at to what prompted her sudden change of demeanor.

Glancing back up at him, her eyes pleading, she asked softly, "Will you stay with me? I-I don't want to be alone right now."

The confusion that had settled along his frame evaporated only to be replaced with surprise at her forthright request. Stilling her immediate retraction of her appeal when she detected the change in his expression, he said simply, "Yeah. I can do that." Bending to place a light kiss on her forehead, he added, "How 'bout you run the water and I'll quick get our things in from the truck?"

She nodded, a slight, relieved smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Okay," he affirmed, cupping her jaw affectionately before withdrawing from her. "There may be some smelly, bubbly stuff under the counter. You might have to dig for it." He smiled at her before adding, "I'll be back in a second."

Again, she nodded, returning his smile. Sighing as she watched him leave, she eased herself off of the counter and, after shedding her overalls and underwear, crossed the bathroom to the tub. After wiping the porcelain down with the hand towel Jack had given her earlier, she adjusted the temperature of the water before turning back to the cupboards to look for the "smelly, bubbly stuff."

The sight of her reflection stopped her cold. Normally her blue eyes shone with a pleasant amalgam of warmth and determination; now they stared back at her, red-rimmed and lifeless, like bloodshot, milky orbs hanging limply from swollen sockets. And her skin was much paler than she remembered; her face was speckled red and pulled taut across the brittle bones of her nose and cheeks. When had she begun to age so?

Choking back a violent flux of bile in her throat, she stared hard at the bruises dotting her neck and shoulders; the outline of their fingers along the curves of her breasts, the vicious ridge of purple teeth marks that marred the crest of her skin. The lacerations their memory had driven her to unconsciously to inflict upon her swells; frantically she tore at the bandages, needing to see the wounds themselves under this new light and amidst the storm of her gathered bruises. She grimaced at the pastiche, failing to respond when blood beaded and began to trickle down her right breast.

At her last appointment, Janet had said that they had faded, that her contusions were healing "nicely." But there was nothing remotely "nice" about them—disgusting purple and green souvenirs driving her memories into the light of a horrid reality. It **_did_** happen. Here was the proof. And there it was again, along the ridge of her ribs—when had they begun to show?—and there again, along the concavity between her hipbones, and lower still. On the flare of her hips, the soft, inner portion of her thighs, and—

—**_and_**—

And within the delicate folds and depths of her body, much farther beneath the surface of her skin than any discoloration. Their bodies had marked her own, had plunged their sin deep within her, spilling the seed of their transgressions into her very flesh…and then they had left her for dead.

_**And she had let them.**_

…but she was no Christ, no savior of any race. The Christ had merely been beaten, ridiculed, crucified—that she could handle. That had definite, quantifiable terms by which to calculate the various equations of misery. But this—_living_ with this…_she had let them…_

A white terrycloth towel suddenly draped around her shoulders, casting off the machinations invoked by the sight of her own nakedness. A warm body stood close behind her, gentle hands coaxed her around, and then she was enshrouded by the heat and scent of—

"Jack," she whispered, resting her head sullenly on his chest.

"That's right," he returned, his voice hoarse, distant. "I'm right here."

Too soon the sanctuary of his embrace lessened and he was looking down at her. He touched her face, his thumb caressing the delicate curve of her cheekbone just below her eye. And then he kissed her forehead softly and murmured, "Come on. Your bath's ready." She silently followed him, allowing him to remove the towel and help her into the blessedly soothing water.

How long she lay there, soaking the pain out of her weary limbs before Jack began to tenderly cleanse her body, she did not know. But his touch did not scare her, it did not burn her flesh the way she imagined such intimacy might. Even when he gently cradled each of her breasts in turn and cleansed her wounds she did not shudder; nor did she feel discomfited when he drew the cloth in slow, soothing circles up the soft skin of her inner thighs to the apex of her legs to gently wash what they had so horribly abused.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against the background of water dripping from the cloth as Jack lifted her wrist out of the bath to cleanse the healing rupture caused by the cuffs.

Jack stopped his ministrations, and looked at her askance. "For what?"

Eyes fixed stalwartly to the ceiling, she softly specified her apology. "For being weak. For letting them hurt me. For not finding another way out of that mess." She drew a deep breath, and then decisively continued. "The team's inactive because of me. It's my fault."

"Whoa," he said, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Sam—this isn't your fault. They didn't give you a choice."

"Yes," she spat venomously. Then, shocked by her admission, she quickly withdrew her arm from his grasp and pulled it tightly against her body, her eyes downcast and shamed.

Narrowing his eyes under his growing suspicion, Jack tentatively asked, "Yes, it's your fault or yes, they gave you a choice?"

The bathwater began quaking around her body as she succumbed again to slight tremors, her face a crumpled mass of indiscernible emotion. Her chest heaved sporadically several times before she murmured, "They gave me a choice."

His heart skipped frantically, searching for a regular beat as her words echoed within his head. After clearing his throat in an effort to clear the parchedness of his mouth he asked, "What did they say?"

Around the slight tearless sobs that shook her body, Sam managed to whisper, "They told me that I could either participate willingly or they would let me go and…" She stumbled over her own words, earnestly wishing she had never broached this subject with him. Summoning her strength, she finished, "…and they would kill you and Daniel. Use your blood in the place of mine." Hugging herself tightly, she murmured, "I couldn't let that happen, Jack…I couldn't let them hurt you…"

Jack's eyes fell closed under the weight of her admission. Her sacrifice had ensured their survival. Dammit. Opening his eyes, he reached for her trembling body and effortlessly pulled her into his arms and out of the bath, heedless of the water falling in gentle streams from her wet skin. Righting her long enough to wrap a large bath towel around her shoulders and hand her another, smaller one, he silently picked her up again and carried her to the master bedroom where he gently settled her onto the bed. He sat down next to her, plucked the extra towel from her grasp and began tenderly drying her hair. She sighed and relaxed slightly as he massaged her scalp and concomitantly toweled her off.

This was not the response she had been expecting. She had been expecting him to agree that it was her fault, to be repulsed by her presence, and to throw her out of his cabin while hurling slanders at her from his doorstep. She had not expected this continued tenderness or this unmistakable love.

"They didn't give you a choice, Sam," he reiterated as he pressed the towel against her neck and face.

Immediately, she opened her mouth to protest. They did give her a choice. They did. Give. _Her_. **_A choice_**.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, silencing her with a single uplifted finger. After a moment, he resumed drying her body before continuing, "That **was not** a choice. They forced you into that room, Sam; they forced you to lay there while they raped you—"

"No," she cried, clasping her hands over her ears and rising from the bed. As she rose, the towel about her shoulders fell and ensnared her feet when she attempted to run, sending her careening to the floor in a great, bony heap of tears and blood. As she lay panting on the floor, she felt Jack's hands gently extricate her feet from their terrycloth confines and then drape the towel over her naked body before running his hand slowly across her back. His ministrations did nothing to calm her nerves this time, and she shakily pulled away from him, crawling out from under his hand to curl up in a ball beneath the towel. "It wasn't rape," she whispered at last.

Jack's jaw dropped and he stared at her openly. "What?" he managed. "Of course it was ra—"

"No!" she exclaimed desperately, aching for him to understand. "No, it wasn't. Not really. It's only rape if you don't consent." Huddling further into her terrycloth cave, she muttered ashamedly, "I consented."

When he did not say anything further, she continued, anguish lapping bitterly in her tone. "Don't you see, Jack? Don't you get it? I **let** those men take me. I **allowed** it to happen. They wanted my body and I let them take it from me like…" She trailed off, hating to say it, but needing to hear it, "…like some kind of whore."

Her breath caught in her throat as Jack sidled up beside her, his eyes flashing venomously, his face clearly radiating his incensement. Taking her chin firmly in hand, he whispered fiercely, "Don't you ever, **ever** say that again."

"But—" she began.

"No, Sam," he said firmly, placing a silencing finger over her lips, the blaze suffusing his pupils lessening somewhat as he continued. "You listen to me. A choice between the death of the people you love and giving your body over to be used is no choice at all. They **forced** you to participate, they **forced** you into submission, and they **forced** themselves on you like a pack of animals." Taking her face between his palms, he whispered, "If you're to be blamed for anything, it's for keeping me and Daniel alive."

She shook her head, freeing her face from his hands, and stammered, "B-but—"

He cut her off. "Did you want them to take you? Did you want them to force themselves into your body? To tear you apart? Did you want to feel their hands on you--"

"No," she asserted, visibly horrified by his vivid description of the attacks. Caught up in her own memory, she said, "N-no, I didn't, but they didn't give me a choice—"

"Exactly," Jack whispered, cupping her cheek tenderly in his palm.

Realizing the headiness of her admission, she looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Releasing a breath she had not been aware of holding, she sagged against the wall behind her, her own slight weight suddenly too much for her to bear. Jack leaned over her and gently kissed her forehead prior to gathering her again into his arms and depositing her gingerly on the bed.

When he stooped to kneel in front of her, he caught sight of blood dripping down the curve of her right breast and silently excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned seconds later, his arms bore the elements necessary to cleanse her open wounds. She did not object when he removed the towel from her shoulders and wrapped it about her waist, allowing her that modicum of privacy. Gingerly sweeping an alcohol-damped cotton ball across the weeping lacerations, he murmured platitudes to her as she gasped at the sudden, brilliant stinging sensation.

"It's all right," he whispered as he spread antibiotic cream across the injury. "Just a few more after this." Affixing a gauze pad across the wound, he delicately cupped her breast in his hand, mindful of its fragility, and held the pad in place with his thumb. "I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured while deftly taping the bandage in place. Repeating the procedure for each wound that required the attention, he made certain to keep his manner studious, to keep the intimate contact to a minimum.

After dressing her wounds, he retrieved a bottle of lotion from her bag—white ginger and amber—and knelt before her, silently asking her permission to further soothe her aching body. When she nodded her consent, he smiled reassuringly at her and tipped a small circle of the cream into his palm. A delicious and spicy scent permeated the air as he massaged the lotion into her shoulders and arms, taking great care to keep his touch light over the surface of her contusions. After he had finished on her upper body, he gave the same treatment to her feet and legs, his hands traveling only half-way up her thighs, but massaging her feet and calves thoroughly with his strong, calloused hands.

When he had finished, he looked up at her, her eyes dim and half-lidded, her features slackened and quite heavy. Brushing a damp tendril of hair away from her eyes, he leaned up towards her and placed his lips tenderly against her forehead. After withdrawing from her, he leaned his forehead against hers for several moments before rising to climb onto the bed and setting the lotion beside him. Wordlessly, he softly grasped her upper arms from behind and tugged her back towards him. Directing her to lay before him on her stomach, she complied willingly, her eyes slowly drooping closed as she melted into the soft cushion of the mattress.

He combed her hair away from her face with splayed fingers, his thumb lingering tenderly on her temple. Reaching around behind him, he located the bottle of lotion and tipped a generous amount into his palm, warming the cream between his hands before spreading it gently across the canvas of her back. He smiled as she relaxed visibly under his calculated strokes and her muscles gradually eased of their tension. Several minutes later he was rewarded by her slow, deep breaths and the slackening of her jaw, signifying her lapse into sleep. Nestling a kiss on her cheek, just below her ear, he whispered, "Sleep well," before carefully rising from the bed and draping an extra blanket across her slumbering body.

As he went to exit the room, he cast one long look over his shoulder at her, sighing heavily as the impending challenges loomed ominously overhead. Two months. It was not long enough, yet, at the same time, the length of several eternities. For the first time he was forced to admit that she might not make it, that she might indeed succumb to the machinations of her inner turmoil.

But, for now, she was asleep. Blissfully, painlessly asleep.

---------------------------------------------------

Sam awoke with a start, the layout of the room unfamiliar and disconcerting. Blearily blinking back sleep, she surveyed the area for any sign of her current location. Duffle bags on the floor. Burgundy curtains disallowing the freedom of the sun's waning light. A wooden four-poster bed. And the smell of…pancakes?

Jack's cabin. She was in the master bedroom of Jack's cabin. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, she fell back against the comforter, suddenly mindful of her state of undress. Self-consciously, she crept out from underneath the blanket, located one of her bags, and rifled through it until she found the articles of clothing she was after. Simple white underclothing and socks, a pair of heather-gray sweatpants two sizes too big, and a large blue hooded sweatshirt. She pulled her underwear on, noting with a frown that they sagged more than they should and, after trying in vain to painlessly don her bra, decided that the garment was not necessary in light of her chosen outfit. Tugging on the sweatpants, she drew the string as tightly as she could and tied it off, the material draping shapelessly from her hips, and then pulled the sweatshirt over her head.

The result was a shapeless, formless version of herself. Perfect.

After her feet were nestled snugly into the welcoming warmth of her socks, she ran her fingers idly through her hair before trotting out to the living room. The image of Jack standing over the stove, spatula in hand, attending to pancakes flitted through her mind and she smiled; she would sneak up behind him, wrap her arms around his waist, pressing herself fully against his back, and then—

She stopped and listened. He was talking, she realized as she placed the gentle reverberation of his voice, muffled in the expanse of the cabin. Creeping silently towards the kitchen, she suddenly felt a wave of nausea overcome her as he heard him speaking tiredly into the receiver.

"—not entirely unstable. She has her moments.— I don't know, Janet. It's only been a couple of days, but—It's okay. Don't worry about it. I'll tell her.—No, there's no problem with that. I got plenty of room. I'm sure you'll fit on the loveseat. – I try. – Well, it's about damn time. He should've been here for her from day one.— I know, I know. I'm sure she'll be glad to see him.— Yeah, I'll tell her.— Sleeping.—Yeah, we had a pretty hellish afternoon.—Listen, I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. I have to flip my pancakes. And, just for the record, I resent being grilled about Sam.—I know it was, but I don't have to like it.—Yeah, yeah. You go, dig. See what you can find out. My cakes are burning. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sam heard him heave a heavy sigh and place the phone back in its cradle. Swallowing mightily and clenching her fists to slow the infuriated tremors she knew were inescapable, she slowly advanced the doorway, leaning against the jam as she watched him turn pancakes onto a large plate and place it in the warmed oven. Keeping her eyes trained on him for several more moments, she finally announced her presence.

"Who was that?" The icy sting was more apparent in her voice than she cared to admit, but she was too devastated to care.

Jack spun around momentarily, smiling when he saw her. "Hey you," he said, oblivious to her question. "How was your nap?"

Ignoring his inquiry and attempting to control her anger as she stared smoldering holes in the back of his shirt, she repeated, "Who was that, Jack?"

"What?" He turned towards her again, his face etched with confusion. "Who was what?"

She narrowed her eyes, unable to determine if he was being facetious or genuinely ignorant. "On the phone. Who were you talking to?"

"Oh," he muttered as his expression dropped. Sighing, he leaned against his fisted hands on the countertop before answering her. "That was Janet. She was wondering how you were doing."

"She's been using you to keep tabs on me, hasn't she?" Her voice was low, trembling with bits of escaped fury that itched to be set free in its entirety. "This whole time…"

"Whoa," he said, his eyebrows arched and palms raised to quell her impending diatribe. "Let's get one thing straight. Janet's in your corner, all right? Janet, Hammond, hell, even Roberts—they're all fighting for you." He sighed as he watched her, her face unchanging, impervious to his explication. Finally, after running his fingers tiredly through his hair, he muttered, "Dammit…" and then proceeded with an explanation, his voice low, almost sorrowful. "Hammond just got word from Washington. According to the results of your psych eval, you shouldn't even be on the roster at the SGC anymore, but Hammond cut a deal with the brass because he knows you, knows what kind of an officer you are, what kind of a person. If at the end of these two months, you're declared psychologically fit, you'll be cleared to return to the SGC…"

Swallowing harshly, she astutely observed what he failed to mention. Hesitantly, she asked, "SG-1?"

His head hung limply from his neck at her question and it sapped all of his reserve strength to look her squarely in the eye, his own misting slightly. He slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

_No…_

The room began to tumble horribly out of synchrony with the rest of reality and Sam grabbed frantically at the door jam to keep herself upright. Numbly she was aware of Jack advancing towards her and, while her first instinct after such a shock was to push him away, she lacked the strength to do so. Instead, she fell heavily against him, her breath coming in faint, rapid gasps that only served to increase her disorientation.

"Breathe," she heard him whisper against her hair as he slowly lowered them both to the floor and gently maneuvered her fully into his arms. Massaging her back in slow, soothing circles, he whispered, "Breathe, Sam. Come on. It's all right. Just breathe."

Pulling away from him slightly, she gazed up at him, her eyes wide and horrified. "_All right!_" she managed. "**Tell** **me** how this is all right."

"Hammond's fighting for you right now, Sam," he told her, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "Janet's finding out everything she can about how to help you—"

"She'll be here tomorrow," she said, her voice tinny even to her own dulled ears.

"Yes," Jack affirmed, pressing a kiss to her head. "But it's not a test, Janet's not the enemy, here. She's your friend and she's just trying to help you through this and get you back into the SGC."

She nodded against his chest, but her thoughts were heady with the impending destruction of her career. Numbly she asked, "Who else is coming tomorrow?"

"Well," he drawled slowly, carefully. "Daniel, for one. And…" He bent closer to her in order to gauge her reaction. "…Dad. Dad's coming to see you." He paused, unable discern her feelings on the subject. "He was able to get away from the maze of Tok'ra politics and wanted to check up on you."

She drew a shaky breath. "Does he know?"

"Uh," he began, attempting to clear his throat. "Not…yet," he admitted, but hastily continued, "But he will when he gets here tomorrow. You won't have to tell him anything you don't want to."

"That's why he hasn't been to see me," she realized, the fact causing a brief cold spurt to shoot down her spine. "No one told him."

"Oh," Jack said quickly, "We sent word, believe me. As soon as Hammond knew what happened, we sent a message. But," he sighed. "Apparently no one felt obligated to call him away from his mission."

"It wasn't that important," she muttered bitterly. "Not important enough to warrant his immediate attention."

As much as he despised the Tok'ra, Jack was rather fond of Jacob and felt compelled to stand up for him in light of her disparagement. "Hey," he murmured softly, cradling her head against his shoulder. "It wasn't Dad's fault. No one on their side told him."

"Yeah," she muttered. She stared dully ahead for several moments before rising from Jack's embrace and shuffling slowly over to the stove where his forgotten pancakes lay, steam wafting from their rapidly burning edges. Deftly flipping them, she handed the spatula to Jack who had risen and now stood behind her. "Your pancakes are burnt," she told him plainly before moving to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer, and making for door to the deck.

He watched through the bared window as she slumped wearily into one of the deck chairs and absently twisted off the top of her bottle before taking a long pull from the golden beverage. While alcohol certainly was not something she should indulge in at present, he'd be damned—literally and figuratively—if he was going to tell her that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

She sat on the deck for hours, unaware of the setting of the sun, nursing her beer, and thinking. Under normal circumstances thinking comforted her; her brain was analytical, precise, calculating. It came in handy on the job when ideas required immediacy and quick results were key to survival. Now, however, thinking only served to heighten her melancholy. If luck elected her worthy, in two months she would be rewarded with a laboratory position in the SGC. If it skipped over her, well, then, the future seemed…like no future at all. At least, not the one she had imagined; not the future her brain had analyzed and calculated, weaned for every possible flub or mistake.

She had been so damned careful, careful for _years_. Careful so that she could climb to where she was right now—or had been before the mission to '275. She might as well resign her commission, give up on her chances of a successful military career. And why not? The military had obviously given up on her. They had kicked her off of her team, disallowed her future field work, and effectively squashed any career goals she had had beyond her current rank.

Fuck the military.

"Nice night."

The comment took a moment to register in her current self-pitying state. Glancing up at her companion, she shook her head in an attempt to clear it. "Sorry?"

"The night," he said, lowering himself into the chair beside her. "It's…nice."

She nodded, indulging his observation, and took a sip from the bottle held loosely in her hand. Resisting the urge to grimace, she swallowed the bitter, luke-warm liquid and stared out at the lake and the full moon reflected brilliantly in the gently rippling water. He was right. It was almost…peaceful. However, a light, repetitive tapping beckoned her attentions after a moment. Glancing over at Jack, she noted his typical restlessness was tonight augmented by his continual drumming of his fingers along the arm of the chair. "What?" she asked, her tone sharper than intended.

"Huh?"

She scowled. "You want to say something," she said, edging on exasperation. "Just say it."

"Oh," he muttered. After a second he cleared his throat and, staring out at the lake, said, "Janet said she wants to…check you out. See how you're doing physically. Run some tests."

Wearily, she set her bottle down on the deck. Supposing she should be angry, but not having the strength required to facilitate that degree of emotion, she replied, "She wants to or she's supposed to?"

"Sam…" Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Janet isn't—"

"I know, I know." Huddling deeper into the folds of her sweatshirt, Sam dismissed his protest. "Janet isn't the bad guy here. I know. You've said that."

"She's only trying to help you."

In spite of herself and the current situation, Sam chuckled. "Trying to help me what? Get my life back? I think the military's already had the last word on that one."

"Sam, there is more to life than the military." Jack's voice belied his frustration. "I've been trying to get that through your head for the past four years."

"And for the past four years I've been trying to tell you that the military **is** my life," she retorted softly, but not without a hint of bitterness. "Career military means just that."

"Well…maybe it's time for a career change."

"No!" Sam cried, suddenly suffused with previously pent up anger. "If I'm going to change my career then **I** want to be the one deciding that and not some paper-pushing, soft-assed, brown-nosing little bastard who thinks that he can take one look at an eval and play god!"

"I agree with you," Jack answered quietly, reaching around her chair to pluck her abandoned beer from the deck. "But they're authorized to do just that." After taking a swig of her beer, its warmth apparently not affecting him, he continued, "And they are giving you a second chance to return to the SGC."

She sighed as she silently conceded his point and rested her head resignedly against the back of the chair. "God, I hate them," she muttered.

"Who?"

"Oh, pick someone. I'm sure I'll be able to think of a reason why they should be bombed, gassed, or otherwise destroyed."

Jack raised his eyebrows appreciatively and whistled softly at her uncharacteristic sadism. "Wow. Dem's fightin' words."

She offered him a half-smile before furrowing her eyebrows and leaning forward, her hand outstretched towards the beer he had stolen. "Give that back," she demanded, gripping his knee for greater leverage as he pulled the bottle out of her reach.

"What? This?" He asked innocently, tilting the bottle slightly.

"Oh, don't give me that," she chastised clambering out of her chair and triumphantly plucking the bottle out of his hand. Impulsively and in need of the reassurance, she settled down across his lap, muttering, "Jack O'Neill, innocent. Ha." With that, she tilted the bottle against her lips and downed half of the remainder. "Here," she said, handing him the beverage. "I don't want anymore."

Chuckling, he accepted the proffered bottle and drained it quickly, letting it drop to the deck before lacing his arms carefully around her waist as she sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to his warmth. "You know," he said after a moment, choosing his words quite carefully. "This does open up some options."

"What does?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"The brown-nosing, paper-pushing…" He faltered momentarily. "What else?"

He heard her smile. "Soft-assed."

"Right," he said, remembering. "Anyway, the soft-asses playing god. Their…_decision_, unfounded as it may be, it opens up some options."

"Jack…" She warned and started to pull away from him, but he held her fast.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, as she turned to face him, her eyebrow arched in suspicion. "Hear me out."

She sighed. "I'm listening."

"Good." Suddenly in the light of her scrutiny, nervousness found crevasses in his plan and slowly edged in towards his adam's apple. Swallowing the sudden lump, he found that he could not look at her and instead directed his gaze to her hands resting limply in her lap. Idly tracing a line around her fingertips, he cleared his throat and continued softly. "It, ah, opens up options that the military itself didn't allow…before. Working relationships and military ranks…" he glanced up at her and saw her watching him, tears brimming the rims of her eyes, and slowly trailed off. "…they don't matter anymore…"

Tears falling freely, Sam bent towards him and planted a long, loving kiss on the prickly skin of his cheek before resting the crown of her head against his temple. Softly, she whispered, "Do you still want me? After everything that's happened?"

Rounding her jaw carefully with his hands, he gently pulled her head away from his to look into her eyes. Seeing the fear and uncertainty resting in their crystal depths, he tenderly drew her mouth to his own, his fingers weaving into her hair as he incrementally deepened their kiss in an effort to alleviate her doubt. She responded hesitantly at first, but as his tongue softly probed her lips, meekly seeking entrance, she did not deny him; wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close, reveling in this new passion, this new blessed confidence.

It was he who ended the kiss, wary of pushing too much on her too quickly—wary of pushing her at all. Breathless, he rested his forehead against hers before stroking the soft skin of her cheek. "You are…everything…to me."

A broad smile stretched slowly across her lips as fresh tears started rolling slowly down her cheeks; but as she contemplated the full implications of a relationship her expression faltered. Staring down at her hands, she whispered, "I can't—I mean, there are some…**things** I won't be able…to do…yet." Drawing a deep breath, she turned to him and placed a silencing finger over his open mouth. A small smile returning to her lips and a degree of her sadness evaporating with the admission, she added, "But that doesn't mean I don't want to."

Grinning, he pulled her close and said, "Well, that's somewhere to start, isn't it?" She nodded against his shoulder and pulled her legs up and over the arm of his chair, drinking in his warmth and drugging scent. "I won't push you," he said after awhile. "But you need to tell me..."

"I will," she assured him softly, reaching up to gently caress the dark line of his stubble. "Somehow I'll make sure you know."

He nodded and tightened his arms around her, content to simply hold her in the stillness of the north woods. When she shivered against him, he gently ushered her out of his lap and silently took her hand before leading her into the cabin and into a night of peaceful, uninterrupted rest facilitated by the amalgamated warmth of their interwoven bodies.

* * *

mabynn (at) gmail (dot) com 


	4. Recollection

Warning: This section includes a graphic description of a flashback, mention of suicidal ideation and, um...French toast... Right.

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Alea Iacta Est

Part III:

Recollection

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Morning found them as the night had left them--nestled securely against each other, legs intertwined and fingers interlaced, their breathing deep and even amidst the early morning bustle of the deep woods. Sam's mind had allowed her the precious hours of dreamless sleep her body required, a variance in its typical pattern eased by the warm, reassuring presence of the man sleeping beside her.

She awoke before he did and seized the opportunity to gaze at him unabashedly under the light of a yawning sun. The egg-shell rays highlighted his remaining innocence and, in the dim, freckling glow, she was permitted to believe that the lines etching his face were due solely to age and not the weathering of pain or the surviving of battle. Here, in their bedroom, he was just a man; a man free of the burden of the world's security and numinous threats to the galaxy, a man just like the millions of others who lived richly in blissful ignorance.

Just a man lost in the peaceful dredges of sleep.

Holding her breath as he shifted, a smile broke across her face as he reached for her and urgently breathed her name through the veil of his slumber. Her arms opened to his willing body and easily wrapped around his shoulders as his head settled in the crook between her neck and breast, his arm looping loosely around her waist. Languidly she ran her fingers through his hair, skirting his scalp with her nails and inhaling deeply of his scent--rich, musky, and masculine. The scent of safety, of strength.

She would depend on him today as she depended upon oxygen. Her fingers stilled in his hair momentarily as she ruminated the coming hours; she supposed that she should not be nervous. After all, it was only Janet, Daniel, and her father coming to stay with them for--how many days did Jack say? Three? Four? She sighed. The number didn't matter. The reason, however, did. As much as Jack argued the fact, they were coming to check up on her, to make certain she was all right, that she was safe. Why shouldn't she be safe? She was with Jack. Grimacing as Jack shifted against the bandages along the slope of her breast, she was forced to remember the previous night--the night she had crossed the boundary between mental planes. Janet would undoubtedly question the injuries and regard her with that infuriating look of concern she had attributed only to her late mother until she had met the doctor. God only knew what sort of tests her friend would want to run on her, what she would want to peruse, topically and physically, in the name of medicine.

And her father...

Her father would want to know what happened, how she had been abused, what exactly had taken place on 275. But he would not ask her. He would ask Janet and Daniel and probably even Jack, but he would not ask her. He would inquire into her current condition, perhaps prod for her mental, maybe even her emotional, well-being. And he would pretend to believe what she told him. Then, much later, he would sit silently by her, perhaps hold her hand or wrap his arms around her shoulders, waiting for her to delineate her experiences and the truth about her current state.

He would be waiting an awfully long time. She had decided that she was not going to offer information unless asked directly, and even then she had given herself permission to disregard the query should the answer prove too difficult. They would tell her that they "were there" for her if she needed to talk, that all she had to do was phone them any time of the day or night. That was all well and good, and she felt a deep twinge of guilt for even thinking it, but they had not proven themselves to her as of yet.

Jack had. And, right now, Jack was all she needed in this struggle between her and her unconscious mind.

"You awake?"

She smiled at the gruffness of his morning voice and pressed her cheek to the top of his head, her fingers running lazily through his sleep-tousled hair. "Mmhm."

"What time is it?"

Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, she replied, "0939." The stubble lining his jaw lightly scratched her skin when he spoke and she fought against the urge to giggle at the sensation.

Jack groaned softly. "I don't get out of bed until at least 1000 when I'm on leave." Hugging her body tightly to him, he glanced up at her, his eyes shining, and murmured, "That means you don't either."

She smiled softly down at him. "I'm okay with that."

Lifting his head from her chest, he raised himself up onto his side, his head resting firmly against his palm, and gazed down at her face, his eyes soft and warm in the growing light of morning. Smoothing her hair away from her eyes, he asked, "How did you sleep?"

"Well," she replied, snaking an arm through the small hole created by his arm and the mattress. "I don't think I dreamt at all. At least, not that I remember."

"That's good," he murmured as he began to trace the contours of her mouth with an outstretched finger.

He was staring at her lips, she realized, a faint flutter forming in her stomach at the thought. He wanted to kiss her...kiss her good morning. Kiss her like he had last night.

But this was not like last night. Last night they had been on the porch and she would have easily been able to escape. Now she was lying down--beneath him--in his bed. No, this was much, much different.

But Jack wasn't. Jack was the same man. Only...scruffier. Warmer. More comfortable.

Pushing her fears aside, she offered him a small smile and softly cupped the back of his neck to pull his mouth down to hers. As soon as their lips touched, Jack relinquished control over the contact to her, being conscious to keep his responses to her proximity apparent, but not overbearing. However, when she parted her lips to him, her fingers flexing intermittently as they tangled in his hair, he surrendered to the desire to gently and thoroughly explore her mouth in depth. Their tongues tenderly caressed each other and the surrounding tissue in tandem as Jack slowly moved his forearms underneath her shoulders, inching her closer to his body. Smiling as she moaned softly and tightened her fingers in his hair, he circled his tongue one last, leisurely time around her warm recesses before pulling away to secure some much needed air.

Contrary to her fears, Jack did not attempt to settle his weight onto her, but braced himself above her body on his elbows, the tips of her breasts just barely brushing his chest as he rested his forehead against her own. After he had caught his breath, he lifted his head, a smile gracing his features, and gazed down at her. "Good morning," he whispered.

"Morning," she replied breathlessly, smiling as Jack gently brushed his nose against hers.

He rolled onto his back then, beckoning her into his arms. As she settled against him, her head resting fully on his chest, he asked, "What were you thinking about?"

"How did you know I was thinking?"

He chuckled and affectionately kissed her forehead. "Because you're always thinking."

Smiling, she conceded his point. "True." After wrapping her arm around his stomach and shifting closer to him, she murmured, "I was just thinking about today. Trying to gather any last little bits of courage, I guess."

He was silent for awhile, presumably contemplating her comment, and then muttered, "They love you, you know."

Nodding, she sighed. "I know."

He fingers alighted in her hair, lazily combing the tangled strands away from her face. "I'm sensing a but'."

"Mmm," she affirmed. "But the but' sounds too...snobby, I guess, to say."

"Try me."

"Jack..." she sighed, not wanting to voice the thoughts that had so recently coagulated in her mind. "I don't--"

"Seriously, Sam," he interjected, his other hand settling reassuringly on her forearm. "Say the but' and I'll tell you if it sounds snobby."

She sighed as he gently nuzzled the top of her head. They were silent for a moment before she said softly, "I guess I don't know if I can trust them...like I used to." Before Jack could wager his judgment of her thought, she continued, "Which is ridiculous, I know. Janet's saved my life a million times, I've worked with Daniel for years, and my father...well, he's my dad. I've always trusted him."

Jack was silent for moment, as Sam was beginning to realize was a trope in his intimate conversations. Finally, he asked, "You trust me, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why?"

Taken aback slightly, she frowned, the answer to his question eluding her. "I-I don't know if I can put that into quantifiable terms, Jack." She paused, staunched in thought. "I guess...you've had the opportunity to prove yourself."

Jack nodded, obviously accepting her answer. "Okay, so then it stands to reason that Janet, Daniel, and your father--none of whom you've had much contact with since 275--would prove themselves trustworthy if given the opportunity."

Slowly, she nodded. "Theoretically."

"So give them the opportunity," he exhorted softly, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Don't write them off without reason. And, no," he added, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That doesn't sound snobby."

"Really?" she asked, looking up at him, her eyebrows upraised in hesitation.

He caressed her cheek softly, his eyes sparkling tenderly down at her. "Really."

She regarded him skeptically for a moment before sighing and settling back down beside him. They lay in silence for several moments before Jack's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Gotta question."

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

Taking her immediate outburst of giggles as a sign of consent, he gently pulled her body half-way atop his and drank deeply of her laughter.

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"If you hit the fork in the road you've gone too far.--No, actually, if you head right you'll end up at the bottom of Lake Superior which, even though it looks like a massive Stargate, is, I'm sorry to say, a point of no return.--No DHD, yeah."

Sam smiled into her coffee cup as she listened to Jack guide Daniel down the last leg of their drive to the cabin. Glancing at her watch, she noted that their ETA had been a gross miscalculation--of course, they hadn't planned on obtaining an earlier flight out of the Springs, either. She had panicked when she realized that she did not have as much time to prepare herself before their arrival as she had originally planned, but Jack had once again reassured her, calmed her reservations as he had proven himself so proficient at doing.

"No, Swelgert Road, Danny, Swelgert Road.--Yeah, right after the moose crossing.--No, the next moose crossing--Oh, funny man this morning, aren't ya?" Jack crossed the kitchen to the table where Sam had sequestered the coffee pot and, after placing a quick kiss on her cheek, refreshed the liquid in his mug. "Well, you can only turn left, so unless you want to witness the beauty of Minnesota while waiting for a tow truck..." After taking a sip of his coffee, he placed the mug beside Sam and stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, and gently began to knead her knotted muscles. "Yeah. Oh, and sorry about the road. It's a sacred road, a holey road, if you catch my drift. --What?--No, all the way at the end. It's about four miles, give or take.--Yeah, just follow Swelgert and you'll end up in my drive way. Hit the truck and die.--'Kay. See you in a few."

Jack set the phone down on the table and continued massaging Sam's shoulders, wondering to himself how it was possible to build up that degree of tension in less than twelve hours. "They're about four miles away," he said, shifting his attention to her upper arms. "They'll be here in a couple of minutes. You still doing okay?"

She nodded quickly--too quickly apparently.

Jack stopped his work on her shoulders and pulled out the chair beside her, noting painfully that she had hardly touched her eggs and toast. Instead of mentioning it, he took her hand in his and gently cupped her jaw in his palm. The sight of her eyes so wildly frantic reminded him of the animals his grandpa used to slaughter and their demeanor right before their moment of death. Racking his brain for something reassuring to tell her and finding nothing of particular merit, he realized that he had not yet told her that--

"I love you," he said simply, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

Her eyes widened for a moment as the depth of his admission sunk into her addled brain, but in the wake of her realization, he noted with some satisfaction that the frenetic shifting of her eyes lessened, that her pupils constricted, her focus clearer. "I love you, too," she whispered back, her fingers tightening around his hand.

In light of that, there was nothing more to say.

Slowly she leaned forward and met him half-way for a tender kiss; it was in no way passionate, not like the kisses they had shared this morning, but it was in all ways loving, just the reassuring pressure of his lips pressed securely against her own. From that gesture she drew an extra draught of strength, its warmth spreading rapidly through every pore of her body. And when he whispered, "It'll be all right," she very nearly believed him.

A gentle rapping on the door effectively killed the tender moment between them. As Jack rose to answer the door, he lightly grasped her arm and said, "Throw the rest of your breakfast away. If Janet sees it, she'll flip."

She nodded, realizing for the first time that she had hardly eaten a thing that morning, and quickly did as he suggested. Then, smoothing her hands down the legs of her jeans, she drew a deep breath and walked out to the living room to greet the guests she could hear milling about in the entryway.

Her father saw her first.

"Sammie," he whispered, his eyebrows creasing as he surveyed her gaunt form. Crossing the room in two quick strides, he swept her up in a tight embrace that she struggled not to evade. This was her father, she forced herself to remember as she twined her arms around his shoulders. Dad. The man who had rid her closet of monsters and their many attics of ghosts; the man who had bandaged her scrapes when she had fallen off of her bike or out of a tree; the man who--

--the man who would always be proud of her.

"Hi Dad," she said softly as he drew back to look at her. "How was the trip?"

"Fine, fine," he answered absently, his hands gripping her upper arms with a force to which she was unaccustomed. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner, honey. The damned council didn't tell me George contacted them until I got back."

Nodding and straining not to wince at the horrendous pressure he was exerting on her bruised skin, she said, "I know. Jack told me." Sensing his continued air of self-reproach, she added, "It's okay, Dad. Really. I understand."

"Well, I'm glad one of us does." Narrowing his eyes, and thankfully lessening his grip on her arms, he asked hesitantly, "So, how you doing with everything?"

"Okay," she lied, not prepared to journey down that facet of conversation quite yet. "Still kicking."

Jacob smiled proudly, obviously placated by her addendum. "That's my girl," he enthused quietly before adding, "I spose I shouldn't hog you. There's a couple more people here who've been dying to see you."

Plastering a thick smile across her cheeks, she looked over her father's shoulder to see Janet silently regarding her, a tangible air of empathy and concern enveloping her short frame. "Hey Janet," she greeted her friend as she moved away from her father and into the doctor's much gentler embrace. The woman held her for a few moments longer than necessary, but Sam attributed it to Janet sincerely missing her presence at the base and stoically swallowed the discomfort.

"So," Janet began, stepping back to examine her friend's features.

Sam thanked whatever gods were listening that she had had the foresight that morning to don one of Jack's old sweatshirts. The material billowed around her frame, hiding her emaciated body, at least for the time being.

"I hear that you're doing okay."

Sam nodded, knowing that Janet did not believe for one fraction of a second that she was anywhere close to being okay.' In an attempt to substantiate her claim, she offered, "Jack said this was a good place to think and recoup. I guess he was right."

Catching the almost imperceptible narrowing of Janet's eyes, Sam shifted her focus to Daniel, a much safer, much less clinical companion. Currently engaged in an intense festival of whispers with Jack--Daniel appeared to be losing--he did not notice her approach until Jack cleared his throat and nodded towards her. The younger man glanced up, his expression of open curiosity quickly melting into a warm, loving smile when he saw her. "Hey Sam," he said as she neared him, making no move to embrace her until her arms lifted and she stepped close to him. He cradled her gently against his body, his hand alighting softly on the back of her head as a mute and welcome display of his devotion. As she retreated from his embrace, she was somewhat shocked to find tears lining not only her eyes, but his as well.

"How you doing?" he whispered around the constriction in his throat, his concern for her pouring out of his eyes in droves. And then she remembered Daniel as the man he had been before the hell of 275. He was her brother; a soul mate of sorts whom she had depended on for years and he had yet to let her down; yes, she did trust him. And, more importantly, he trusted her.

She could not speak for the pain and she could not lie for the faith between them; she simply nodded, hoping that the tears would keep themselves at bay. But as she continued to hold his gaze, his blue eyes swimming in compassion directed solely at her, her defenses weakened; her eyebrows creased as she bit her bottom lip and tears began to silently slip down her cheeks. Eyes bright with moisture, yet clouded by the nakedness of her pain, she shifted her gaze to the floor, unable to look at him any longer. As she felt Daniel's arms loop loosely around her silently shaking body and pull her near to his chest, she sensed the inaudible snap of her mental defenses and allowed her tears to fall freely as she sagged heavily against him.

"I know," Daniel whispered against her hair. He placed a chaste kiss on her temple before resting his chin delicately on top of her head. Gently rubbing her back, he murmured, "Just keep crying..."

----------------------------------------------

In a show of tremendous foresight, Jack had escorted both Jacob and Janet to the bedrooms as soon as Sam had been safely nestled in Daniel's arms. Neither of them would witness the tears that Jack had felt certain would begin to fall as soon as Sam saw her old friend and was given the opportunity to remember.

"This," Jack said with a flourish, "is the not-so-master bedroom, home of two twin beds, one dresser, and a poor excuse for a closet."

"I assume this is for Daniel and myself," Jacob guessed as he passed by Janet and set his bag on one of the beds.

"You would assume correctly, sir," Jack answered, turning on his heel to the room next door. "And this," he continued, ushering Janet into her temporary quarters, "is the really-not-so-master bedroom, home of a fairly comfortable hide-a-bed and--" he paused for dramatic effect, grasping the back of the chair in both hands, "a desk." Walking over to the opposite wall, he indicated to a frame hanging lopsidedly from a nail and scrutinized it carefully. "And lest we forget ol' Alan Kooper, local artist and garbage man, here is one of his early masterpieces--Still Life With Bass."

Janet grinned at the colonel and shook her head. "Oh goodie. Just what I've always wanted--four days and five nights with the work of an artistic garbage collector. How'd I get so lucky?"

"Well, my first choice was Trout Playing Poker,' but the guy in front of me got to it first."

"Shame," Janet muttered, plopping her bag down at the foot of the couch.

"Now if you'll follow me--" Jack began, moving to exit the room before Janet stopped him.

"Colonel, just a second."

Slowly Jack turned, his shoulders sagging as Jacob appeared in the doorway, his face solemn. Mustering up as much pleasantness as he could, he uttered a polite, "Yes?"

Janet sighed and slunk down into the soft cushions of the couch. "How is she? I mean, really?"

"She told me she was okay, but I don't buy it for a damned second," Jacob intoned softly, his brown eyes flashing as he walked past Jack and planted himself near the desk. "There's no way in hell she's okay. It's been what? A month?"

"Twenty-nine days," Jack supplied tiredly as he discreetly shut the door further, leaving a crack of about two inches between the door itself and the frame. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he arched his eyebrow at Janet and said, "I told you that I resent being grilled about Sam."

"And I told you when you first proposed this trip that that was one of the conditions," Janet returned hotly. "And, frankly, you've done a poor job at it."

"Well, what do you want me to tell you, Janet?" he whispered fiercely. "That she has flashbacks? She's depressed? She doesn't eat? She's more high-strung than a rat in a tank full of piranhas? You knew all that was going to happen. Why do you need to hear it from me?"

"Because that's what we agreed on, Jack," Janet said slowly. "She should be under heavy supervision right now in a mental health facility, but this provisional medical supervision' loophole that you found effectively negated that. And now, I have the General, Dr. Roberts, and several people in Washington breathing down my neck for a report on her condition and all I can tell them is that I haven't heard anything because she's in the fucking north woods of Minnesota."

"I hope you didn't use that exact terminology," Jacob inserted wryly, eliciting a small smile from both Jack and Janet. "Look," he continued. "George, Dr. Whosits, and Washington aside, this is Sam we're talking about. I wanna know how my little girl is doing, Jack. How's she really holding up?"

Jack sighed and pressed his thumb and first finger against his eyes in an attempt to quell his impending headache. "She's...doing better than I had hoped," he finally said. "Frankly, I didn't expect that'd we get all the way up here before she wanted to turn around and go home."

Janet narrowed her eyes slightly. "She didn't? Not once?"

Jack tossed her a withering glance. "If she had, we wouldn't be here right now." Drawing a deep breath, he reiterated, "I really don't know what to tell you guys. I mea--"

"Tell us what happened yesterday afternoon."

Jack squashed the faint tickle of nervousness in his gut as Janet brought the events of the previous day to mind. Swallowing quickly, he glanced up at her, vying for time. "What?"

"Yesterday afternoon," she repeated. "You said it was hellish. What happened? Give me something to tell the general, at least."

Sighing as he reluctantly admitted the validity of Janet's insistence, Jack consented. "Fine, fine," he began. "We pulled into the drive way and I told her that I would show her around as soon as we got our stuff in. Well, she, uh..." He paused, attempting to find the most delicate words to phrase the imminent section of the events. After clearing his throat softly, he continued, "She had injured herself the previous night--"

Janet quickly cut him off. "On purpose?"

"Not...exactly," Jack responded. "She wasn't aware of what she was doing."

Narrowing her eyes as she assimilated this information, Janet asked after a moment, "Where did she hurt herself?"

"Her, uh, her breasts," he answered with some difficulty, fully aware that Sam's father was hanging on his every word. "She did a number on them."

"And you know this how?" Yep. Good ol' dad.

Ignoring the pointed looks being shot at him by both parties, he stared back at them, his confidence suddenly returning as he remembered the trust she had placed in him that night and next. She had allowed him not only to bandage her wounds, but also to care for her broken spirit; she had allowed him to witness her nakedness, both in body and in heart; and she had just that morning verbally professed her love for him. Suddenly, the handling of a protective father and an irate best friend seemed like a cake walk.

Straightening his shoulders and looking Jacob directly in the eye, he replied, "Because I bandaged them for her."

The older man stiffened visibly, his eyes hardening slightly as he continued to regard Jack with suspicion.

"And she let you do that?" Janet's incredulousness irritated him to no end.

"Yes," he replied tersely. "Now, may I continue with the story you so desperately wanted to hear?" Conciliated by their silence, Jack continued. "She said her injuries were warm and that she was worried about infection; she asked me," he glanced pointedly at Janet and Jacob in turn, "to help her redress her wounds. So, I did. After I had finished with one side, she began telling me what had prompted her to make the cuts in the first place and eventually that recount evolved into a fairly intense flashback." Suddenly quite weary of discussing Sam while she was nowhere in sight, he greatly truncated the remainder of the experience, "I held her, she cried, she took a bath, she told me more about 275, I finished bandaging her wounds, she fell asleep, and they all lived happily ever after in the magic forest by the sea. The end."

A heady silence ensued as soon as he had finished his relation.

Jack raised his eyebrows and bounced to the balls of his feet. "Dismissed? Meeting adjourned? No further comments?"

"I have one," Janet said softly. "I noticed there are three bedrooms." After a brief pause, she asked, "Where are you and Sam sleeping?"

"In the master bedroom," Jack replied without missing a beat.

Jacob raised his eyebrows sharply and looked ready to jump out of his skin. "Together!"

"Yes," he answered coolly, resisting the urge to add _but I make her sleep under the bed. Naked. Without a blanket._

Janet sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose tightly. "Is that such a good idea?"

Turning to face the doctor, Jack flashed her an exasperated glare. "Weren't you the one who kept telling me--"

Before Jack could finish his rebuke, Jacob interrupted him, advancing on him slowly, his eyes venomously flashing. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been sleeping with my daughter who was brutally and repeatedly raped not one month ago!"

"Yes," issued a cold, even voice from the hallway. The three occupants of the room each stiffened visibly as Sam, her eyes red and swollen and her voice congested, slowly opened the door and ventured into the room. Walking over to Jack, she slid her arm around his waist and perceptibly relaxed as he gently looped his arm over her shoulders.

"Yes," she repeated, her voice hard and dangerously soft. "He does. And he will continue to do so because it is to the benefit of your daughter." Turning to focus her gaze on Janet, she said, "Which should answer your question, Doctor. And I would ask you both to address any further questions you have regarding my well-being and my state of mind directly to me. Jack shouldn't have to put up with all this shit. He hasn't done a thing to deserve it." After pegging both Janet and her father in turn with a biting glare, she muttered, "If you'll excuse us," and turned to vacate the room, Jack firmly in tow.

The pair silently crossed the living room, but before they got to the kitchen, Jack stopped their trek, gently pulling Sam to him. When she did not meet his eyes immediately, he cupped her face in his hand and slowly directed her gaze to his. Tenderly trailing his fingers along her cheek, he whispered, "Go, Sammie."

She smiled slightly at his approval and then wrapped her arms around his waist. After a moment she muttered, "Daniel said they'd try to corner you. He told me that you were only able to bring me out here on the condition of offering provisional medical supervision."

Stepping back from her slightly, he drew a breath in preparation to defend himself, but was stayed by Sam's hand landing softly on his chest.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I know why you didn't tell me." She shrugged and looked up at him, her eyes still red and swollen, but replete with understanding. "I wouldn't have come with you," she stated. "Simple as that."

"You're not mad?" he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. "No."

"Phew," he sighed, hugging her to his chest. "I was expecting the wrath of Sam Carter to rain fire and brimstone down on my sorry little ass."

Chuckling softly, she said, "Nah, I save the fire and brimstone for special occasions."

"Oooooh," he groaned dramatically. "Note to self..."

"Come on," she said through her smile, disengaging herself from their embrace and tugging lightly on his hand. "Daniel's in the kitchen."

"Just a second," Jack said suddenly, gently pulling him back towards him.

"What?"

"It's just that..." He trailed off and slowly leaned down to capture her lips in a soft, tender kiss, his impulsiveness deliciously rewarded when she softly bit his bottom lip before gradually pulling away. Smiling impishly up at him, she tugged him in the direction of the kitchen. Daniel was sitting at the table, perusing an old fishing magazine and drinking a cup of coffee when they rounded the corner. Hearing their approach, he glanced up at Sam. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," she sighed, coming to rest beside his chair and leaning slightly against Jack's chest. "You were right."

Daniel poured her a cup of coffee and pulled the chair next to him out from under the confines of the kitchen table. Sam indicated to Jack to sit in the proffered chair and then settled herself comfortably across his lap, sipping her coffee thoughtfully as Daniel poured a cup for Jack. As Daniel took Sam's rather intimate seating selection in stride, Jack assumed that she had informed him about their recent change in status. "I take it they weren't happy," Daniel muttered, handing the mug across the table to his friend.

Sam shook her head. "No, I don't think so." The back of her right hand absently brushed against the fabric of Jack's shirt as she asked him, "What did you say to them?" There was no hint of reproach in her voice, her query spurred by simple curiosity.

Jack took a sip of his coffee before answering her. "I, uh, told them a few things about yesterday afternoon," he muttered, hazarding a glance up at her. He sighed as she turned away from him, her shoulders drooping somewhat. "I had to tell them something, Sammie."

"No," she said quickly, quietly, her body still turned from him. "It's okay."

Daniel regarded them each in turn, curious. "Why? What happened yesterday afternoon?"

"Oh, lots of shit," Sam muttered into her coffee cup as she took a deep sip of the liquid.

His eyebrows raising half-way up his forehead, Daniel squinted and drawled, "O...kay."

While Daniel seemed content to leave it at that, Jack arched his neck to look at Sam, silently questioning her. When she nodded for him to specify, he did so, quietly and with much deliberation. "We, uh, talked, she cried, I held her, and uh, well..."

"He deserves better than that, Jack," Sam whispered softly. Turning to Daniel, yet not meeting his eyes, she drew an audible breath and began hesitantly. "The night before last, I, uh, hurt...myself. Deliberately."

Straightening in his chair, he leaned towards her, incredulous. "W-what?" he sputtered. "Are you all right?" Immediately he cringed at his own words. "Sorry. Bad question. But--"

Sam raised her hand to still any of his further verbal stumbling. "Just...let me." He nodded and relaxed back into his chair, his eyes intently focused on her as she continued her story. "I am all right," she affirmed, "I don't really remember...doing it, but it's apparent that I did." She paused, sifting through the events of the past thirty-six hours, trying to weed out the imperative information. "Anyway, when we got to the cabin, Jack helped me redress the wounds and then helped me through an...episode." She cringed as she uttered the word, hating how it implied her mental instability, but at the same time recognizing its validity. "He helped me bathe after that and then stayed with me until I fell asleep."

Daniel nodded and thoroughly contemplated the remaining drops of his coffee before offering, "I can see how they'd get upset at you for that."

Her face falling slightly, Sam choked out, "You can?"

"No, not at all, actually," he returned, reaching for the coffee pot to refill his mug. "Hey, hey, hey! Hot coffee!" he yelped as Sam reached over and smacked the side of his arm, a dark stream of steaming liquid cascading directly from the mouth of the pot and onto the table.

"Danny..." Jack groused, shoving his finger at the mess. "Look what you did."

"Sam hit me!"

"Yeah, well, you probably deserved it."

Sam nodded, a small smile playing about her lips. "He did."

"There," Jack said markedly. "See?" Pointing at a roll of paper towels on the counter, he said, "Number one rule of life at Jack's cabin: if you make a mess, clean it up."

"I thought the number one rule was Eat, drink, and be merry,'" Sam said, settling her head against his shoulder as Daniel rose reluctantly to retrieve the paper towels.

"No, see, that's the Golden Rule, the rule that is aided and abetted by the existence of all other rules." Indicating to the puddle of coffee on the table, he explained, "Now, we couldn't eat' and I would not be able to be merry' while there was an ocean of coffee in the middle of my kitchen table. Hence, the number one rule facilitates the...proliferation, if you will, of the Golden Rule." Tightening his arm around Sam's waist as she giggled softly, Jack smirked haughtily as Daniel returned to the table, paper towels in hand.

"Yes," the younger man drawled as he sopped up the mess. "But if I'm not mistaken the entirety of the phrase reads, Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we may die.'"

"Yeah, see, that's just too foreboding, so we nixed the second half."

"I see," Daniel said, a small smile tickling his lips as he went to place the towels in the trash. "And lunch," he asked, his stomach suddenly growling. "Did you decide to nix lunch, too?"

"Is it that time already?" Sam asked, glancing down at her watch. "We just ate breakfast."

"Well, I did," Jack muttered softly in her ear.

The shuffling of two pairs of feet garnered their attention then, eclipsing the glare Sam was about to shoot Jack; the three kitchen occupants looked up as Janet and Jacob contritely entered the room. Sam regarded them warily while Daniel and Jack kept their expressions decidedly neutral.

"Hey kids," Jacob said at last. "I was thinking--"

"Again?" Jack asked, his eyebrow arched in mock amazement.

Smiling, Jacob said, "Yeah, scary, I know. Anyway, it's a beautiful day. Any chance you'd be up for a picnic or something?"

A smile slowly flitted across Sam's face as the tension melted out of her body at her father's meek request. "That sounds great, Dad."

Jacob smiled gratefully at her, his eyes wavering slightly as he nodded, inferring from her tone that she had forgiven him. He grew slowly content in the security that knowledge afforded.

--------------------------------------------

Her father was correct--it was a beautiful day. The sun shone brilliantly down on them, a light breeze flittering through the tops of the pines and wild grasses every now and again, tossing Sam's hair playfully as she sat beside Janet on a checkered blanket beneath a large oak, her stomach contentedly full for the first time in many days. The boys were several meters in front of them, Jack and Jacob trying to teach Daniel the finer points of throwing a football and providing the women with a tremendous source of amusement.

"At least if he gets hurt you're only a short dash away," Sam said smiling. Their conversation had been tentative at best since being left alone in the name of reconciliation and pigskins. That vacuity ached within Sam more than she cared to admit, but she was not about to broach the subject of their earlier clash. She deserved an apology, she knew. And before she was going to offer any kind of information--to Janet, her friend, or Janet, her doctor--she was going to get one.

Apparently aware of this, and apparently just as uncomfortable in the fragile silence as she, Janet softly cleared her throat, and, picking at a bit of fuzz on the blanket, said, "I'm sorry about earlier today."

Sam said nothing at first, withholding her forgiveness until she felt compelled to forgive. And then she softly muttered, "My father I can understand. He's never been good at those sorts of confrontations." Looking up at her plainly, she asked simply, "Why?"

The purport of the question was clear to Janet, accustomed as she had become to Sam's conversation. Why didn't you trust me? She had effectively asked. Why go behind my back? She sighed and returned her attention to the now imaginary piece of lint on the checkered fabric. "I guess in the mess of reports and briefings and phone calls and whatnot," she said quietly, her voice belying her tremendous exhaustion, "I forgot about you." She glanced up at Sam then, her eyes weary and plainly apologetic. "The real you, not the you on paper."

Sam nodded, appeased by the explanation, and whispered, "It's okay."

And it was; suddenly and wholly, it was all right.

The silence surrounding them grew companionable, more comfortable, and finally Sam asked the question that had been plaguing her since the previous night. "What kind of tests do you need to run?" Her voice was quiet and woefully uncertain. While she had been subjected to a barrage of tests during her month long stay in the infirmary, she had not enjoyed the physical intrusions and knew that part of Jack's reasoning for securing provisional medical supervision was to allow her a much needed reprieve from that environment.

"Well," Janet said briskly, her next words issuing clearly and cleanly, but not devoid of her standard dose of compassion. "I need to check your vitals, see how your wounds are healing--routine physical stuff. I also need a blood sample to check for infection and bacteria growth. Doctor Roberts gave me a couple of questions to ask you and..." she trailed off, knowing that Sam would loathe her impending assertion. "...I need to perform a pelvic exam." Wincing in sympathy as she watched Sam's eyes slip slowly, painfully closed at her last statement, Janet added gently, "I'm sorry, Sam, but I have to do it."

Sam nodded and drew a deep breath, her stomach twisting into painful knots at the mere mention of the dreaded invasion. She did not trust herself to speak.

"I'll go as quickly as I can, I promise."

Again, Sam nodded, and several moments passed before she quietly added, "We can start when we get back."

Janet placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We don't have to do it today, honey--"

"No, I know," she muttered, watching her father zip the football across the open field and into Jack's waiting arms. "But I want to get it over with."

"All right," Janet consented after a moment. "When we get back, then."

Absently twisting her fingers together, Sam gazed over at the makeshift game but failed to see it, her mind already thousands of miles away. Yes, she thought distantly, when we get back, then.

Jack and Daniel collapsed to the ground, their chests heaving and sweat plastering their tee-shirts to their respective chests.

"Come on, boys," Jacob grinned, flipping the ball expertly between his palms. "I'm just getting warmed up."

Jack glared at the older man standing above them, noting that he had barely broken a sweat. "Yeah, no thanks to that damned snake in your head, I'm sure."

"Hey," Jacob warned good-naturedly. "Leave Selmak out of this. The poor girl's had a rough week."

Daniel cast a withering glance at Jacob and accepted his proffered hand up. "Poor Selmak," he muttered dryly as he climbed wearily to his feet.

Jacob grinned and led the way back towards Sam and Janet, his cheerfulness dissipating somewhat as he drew closer to his daughter and was able to fully evaluate her expression. "Sam looks out of it," he muttered to Jack trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

Jack looked up and squinted into the sun at the woman in question. Observing her blank expression and absent hand motions, he quietly returned, "She's zoning. " Catching Jacob's askance look, he clarified. "She's had a rough morning. She'll be all right."

"If you say so," he replied softly, obviously unconvinced, but lacking the time and space to push the issue as they rounded the slight incline and stood over the blanket.

"Hey ladies," Jack said, plopping down next to Sam, his hand gently alighting on her back. "Got anything in the cooler for a bunch of old, sweaty men?"

"Speak for yourself," Daniel intoned, reclining on the grass next to him and tiredly removing his glasses.

"Okay," he drawled, trying again, "Two old, sweaty men and an impertinent, young archeologist."

"Actually, thanks to Selmak, I'm going to outlive you by a good hundred or more years, so, generally speaking, I'm younger than you." Jacob smirked at him as he settled himself a respectable distance from his daughter.

Glaring at the two men before turning to look at Janet, Jack said, "For crying out loud...Janet, I'm old. Hand me a beer."

Turning her head slightly towards him, Sam smiled gently and murmured, "I told you, you're older, not old."

Cracking open the cold can in his hand, he readily returned, "Eh, I got my beer. Age--or the lack thereof--" he said, pointing a glance at Daniel, "--doesn't matter anymore." Pressing a kiss to her temple, he muttered, "But thanks for the attempted ego boost."

"You're welcome," she said, leaning against him slightly before drawing back in mock disgust. "Jack, you're sweaty."

"Way to be quick on the uptake, Sam," Daniel all but groaned from his place on the slope. "An hour of testosterone-driven pigskin flinging does that to a person."

"And for Daniel," Jacob added, smiling, "it has a clearly soporific effect. Looks like nap time to me."

"Hey," Daniel tiredly enthused, his eyes closed and his finger pointing in the general direction of Jacob's voice, "good idea. Who's up for going back to the cabin? I am," he said, forcing his hand in the air.

Jack smiled wryly. "A shower doesn't sound like such a bad idea." Turning to the rest of the group, he asked, "You guys ready to head back?" Sam stiffened noticeably against him as the question passed over his lips, something he studiously noted, but refused to visibly acknowledge to Jacob and Janet.

"Yeah, why not," Jacob answered, taking time to stretch before lifting himself off of the blanket. Janet, who had been casting surreptitious glances at Sam during the whole of this exchange, silently followed his lead.

Jack gently prodded Sam to her feet and, after they had cleaned up the area and were heading back, purposely pulled her behind the others, his hand firmly sidling into hers. "What's up?" he asked softly. "Not ready to head home?"

Sam wrapped her free arm protectively across her stomach before answering him. "No," she said. "I told Janet that she could check me out when we got back to the cabin."

"Ah," Jack muttered, suddenly understanding her reticence. "I see." After a few seconds' silence, he asked, "Did you find out what kind of tests she's gonna run?"

"Routine physical, vitals, blood work, some questions from Roberts..." she listed absently and proceeded to pull her bottom lip in between her teeth, her eyes fixed blankly ahead of them.

"Well," Jack said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"She needs to do a pelvic exam," she murmured, her voice hardly audible, but her words unmistakable to him.

She was terrified, he knew, having not been touched internally since the horrendous abuses of 275. While she had had a similar exam upon returning to the base after the incident, she had been unconscious, blissfully unaware of the invasion. Now, however, she would be alert, agonizingly so, during the entirety of the examination.

Knowing that she did not require him to say anything, he draped his arm across her thin shoulders, pulling her body closely beside his own and offering her what comfort he could. Placing a quick kiss on the top of her head as they came up on the cabin's walk, he whispered, "I'll be there if you need me, baby."

She nodded and watched Janet as she plucked the keys from Daniel's hand and walked toward the car in order to retrieve the medical supplies she would need for the impending tests. "I know," she whispered, a dreadful tremor tickling her spine. "I know."

-------------------------------------------

Janet selected Sam and Jack's bedroom as her impromptu exam station and quickly disappeared into it in order to set up the necessary equipment. Jack had instructed both of the other men to shower before him, wanting to be available should his presence be required at all in this next stretch of time. They sat on the couch together, Sam curled up beside him, her legs pulled protectively against her chest and her head resting lightly on his shoulder. She had lost a substantial amount of weight, he noticed, not for the first time, as he again realized just how compactly she could compress her body without a hint of visible effort. Plucking one of her hands from off of her knee, he held it against his own, palm to palm, and splayed their fingers simultaneously, scrutinizing the sharp protrusion of her bones against her cold, pale skin.

"You've lost a lot of weight," he murmured, carefully keeping his tone neutral lest she think he was accusing her.

But she did not seem to care that he had even mentioned it. Stretching her fingers gently against his hand, she asked softly, "Have I?" When he nodded, she replied, "I didn't notice." Shivering slightly, she drew her hand from his grasp and burrowed into the warmth of her sweatshirt. "Does it seem a bit chilly in here to you?" she asked softly as she shifted closer to his side.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he wrapped his arms around her shivering body and rested his cheek on her head. "No," he answered, "it doesn't." After a moment, he added, "I can build a fire in the fireplace tonight. How's that sound?"

"Mmm..." she sighed, seemingly contented by the mere mention of the promised warmth, "heavenly."

He smiled down at her, mentally likening her reaction to the purring of a cat. Just as he was going to mention his parallel to her, Janet appeared from around the corner. "Sam?" She called from the hallway and smiled warmly when her blond head poked up from behind the back of the couch.

Jack placed a soft kiss on her forehead before she rose and reminded her, "If you need me..."

"I know," she assured him and squeezed his hand quickly before turning down the hallway to follow Janet to the bedroom, her internal organs beginning to quake as she rounded the corner and Janet shut the door behind them. Sam elected to perch on the edge of the bed, unsure of how this volley of tests was going to play out.

Janet turned to face her, her black tank top now partially obscured by her white lab coat. "How do you want to do this, Sam?" she asked her gently. "Do you want to do the pelvic exam first and then proceed to the other tests or--"

"No," Sam responded immediately, her eyes widening slightly at the suggestion and her anxiety sky-rocketing. "Not first."

"Okay, Sam. It's okay. We won't do it first," Janet soothed, kneeling in front of her patient. "I could take your vitals, but you're going to have to calm down a bit, all right?"

Sam nodded, silently conceding the point, and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, willing her body to slow itself.

"Take a couple deep breaths," Janet instructed as she rose to collect her data sheets and clipboard. Noting the lessening of Sam's tension upon her return to her side, Janet said, "Good, now I'm going to quick get your vitals and then draw the blood sample I need, all right?"

Again Sam nodded, sitting silently on the edge of the bed as Janet placed a thermometer under her tongue and proceeded to record her pulse rate and blood pressure. When she removed the thermometer and checked its reading, Janet frowned slightly and gently settled her palm against the back of Sam's neck.

"Your body temperature is three and a half degrees below normal," the doctor softly informed her. "Can I see your hands?"

Sam obligingly lifted her hands up for Janet to inspect, wincing slightly when the doctor gently squeezed her knuckles. Janet frowned, set Sam's hand back against the bed, and scribbled a note on her sheet. "Do you feel any physical pain right now, Sam?"

She nodded.

"Can you tell me where?"

Sam blinked once and brought her hands to rest on her lap, her shoulders hunching slightly as she unconsciously drew her body in on itself to conserve heat. "Everywhere," she whispered reluctantly. "My bones, my muscles, everything..."

Janet repressed the sudden urge to forget the fact that she was a doctor and wrap her friend in a gentle embrace; instead she asked, "Have you been taking anything for it?"

Sam shook her head and stared at her fingers.

"Why not?" Janet gently asked.

Her shoulders shrugged and then sagged tiredly as she contemplated her answer. "Just never though about it," she offered at last.

Narrowing her eyes slightly at Sam's answer, Janet jotted another quick note on the sheet in front of her. "If I prescribe painkillers, will you take them?" she asked, her pen ceasing its flurry momentarily.

Sam looked up, her eyes focused just to Janet's left, and nodded slowly.

"Good," Janet answered quietly, her concern ameliorated somewhat at Sam's agreement. Pulling a syringe out of her pocket she proceeded to draw her needed sample, unerringly puncturing Sam's vein on the first try and quickly filling a collection vial before deftly taping cotton across the puncture mark.

Sensing that Sam would be more prone to follow directions than give them at the moment, Janet placed a folded garment next to her and stated gently, "I'm going to check your wounds to make sure that they're healing properly, all right? I need you to undress and put this gown on; don't worry about tying it. Do you want me to leave the room?"

Sam shook her head and proceeded to gingerly remove her sweatshirt and toss it into a grey puddle on the floor. When she reached for the hem of her shirt to pull the garment over her head, she gasped softly, eliciting a concerned glance from Janet.

"Sam? What's wrong?" The doctor had busied herself needlessly with her medical equipment in order to give Sam a modicum of privacy, but stopped short when she heard her friend's quiet cry of discomfort. Crossing over to where she sat on the bed, Janet quickly surmised the quandary and asked softly, "Can I help you?" When Sam nodded, Janet slowly grasped the hem of the shirt and gently worked it up and over her friend's head.

Janet's mouth dropped open slightly when she saw the angry red gashes crisscrossing her friend's breasts. Hastily averting her eyes and attempting to regain a sense of clinical detachment, she turned back to her equipment, mindlessly shuffling the various utensils around on the short dresser she had requisitioned. She had seen self-inflicted gashes as a med student during clinicals, but they had been nothing close to the severity of marks that currently ran across her friend's chest. From her quick glimpse, she had determined that many had needed stitches, but, by this time, it was too late to administer them. Drawing a deep breath as Sam vocalized her readiness, Janet smiled as she turned and approached her.

"Go ahead and lie down," she instructed Sam gently, moving to stand alongside her as her patient eased herself stiffly onto the bed. Sighing inaudibly as Janet watched Sam stare blankly up at the ceiling, she said, "I'm going to check your ribs first; tell me if you feel any discomfort." At Sam's slight nod, Janet skillfully prodded the woman's ribcage, carefully watching her for any sign of distress. Finding none, Janet inwardly smiled. There was little indication that her ribs had ever been broken. Satisfied, she next examined her wrists and ankles where the metal bonds had bitten deeply into her skin, damaging several layers of her tissue. The area was speckled with healing scabs and free of infection, just as it should have been.

"Everything looks great so far," she commented softly and silently steeled herself against Sam's reaction to her impending request. "I need to look at the wounds on your upper body, so I need you to draw the gown down to your waist."

Initially, Sam did not move, electing to lie stiffly on the backdrop of the comforter, her hands lolling limply from her wrists, her eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Janet was about to repeat herself when, suddenly, Sam, her motions more robotic than human, slowly drew her hands up to her shoulders, grasped the neck of her gown between her fingers and then drug it back down to rest at her waist.

Janet silently cursed the inhabitants of 275 as she looked down at the battered, emaciated body of her friend. Her once taut, muscular abdomen had given way to concavity, her skin sinking into the crevasses between her ribs and tightening itself over the slopes of her clavicles. "You've lost a lot of weight, Sam."

"That's what Jack just told me," she answered dully, her voice quite distant.

"Do you have an appetite?" she asked neutrally as she shifted her gaze upward to inspect the lacerations covering Sam's breasts.

"No."

Wincing at her friend's vacant tone, she offered, "I can prescribe something to help get it back in gear."

"All right."

Narrowing her eyes slightly at the cuts before turning to grab a portable overhead lamp, she said, "It's going to get bright. I'm just going to get a better look at these lacerations, okay?"

Sam nodded.

Janet switched the lamp on, its brightness causing Sam to flinch slightly. Gently prodding the flesh surrounding the wounds, Janet silently chided herself as Sam jerked away from her touch, her eyes, wide and fearful, suddenly latching onto the doctor's. "I'm sorry, honey," Janet whispered, her voice laden with apology. "I should have told you what I was doing." Sam swallowed harshly, her eyes closing before being directed once again at the ceiling. "Can we try that again?"

Slowly, Sam nodded, the tension in her body visible.

"Okay," Janet said, drawing a breath. "I'm going to have to touch you, all right? I promise I'll be gentle." Again alighting her skilled fingers beside the injuries, Janet quickly and carefully inspected the worst of them. "Jack said that you did this yourself," she murmured gently. "Is that true?"

Sam's throat constricted painfully as she swallowed, her reply tearing from her throat. "Yes."

"Do you remember why?"

Closing her eyes against the sudden onslaught of horrid memories and grotesque images that poured into her consciousness, Sam bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in horror. Drawing a deep breath, she whispered, "No," and immediately all of the pictures faded to black and white and then disappeared all together.

"They're not infected," Janet was determining above her, "but they are quite deep. Is it all right if I bandage them for you?"

Releasing her lip from in between her teeth, Sam nodded.

Janet turned back to her supplies and quickly gathered the necessary materials. Squeezing a dab of ointment onto the tip of a cotton wand, she said, "First I'm going to put antibiotic cream on them. It'll be a bit chilly." Quickly dabbing the ointment onto the five angriest wounds, she disposed of the wand and the packet of ointment before opening an envelope of gauze pads. "Here comes the gauze," she said, lightly pressing a strip of the fabric to each band of ointment; "And here comes the tape," she muttered, deftly affixing a strand of wide, breathable tape to the entire surface of each pad, firmly locking them in place. "I'll leave some supplies for you so that you can bandage these after I've gone." She paused, placing a roll of tape, several envelopes of gauze and a dozen or so ointment packets in a large plastic bag and depositing it on the dresser. "Change the dressing once a day for the next ten or so days."

Sam nodded absently and Janet sighed, making a mental note to relay the information to Jack.

Returning to Sam's side and having attended to the worst of her physical wounds, Janet made quick work of the rest of her clinical perusal. The bruises were fading, her abrasions were healing, and she bore no signs of infection, bacterial or otherwise.

When she could put it off no longer, Janet looked sympathetically down at Sam and said, "Honey, it's time."

There was no mistaking her meaning. Sam closed her eyes, her agony tangible, and nodded slowly.

"Do you want me to get Jack?"

"No," she whispered. "It would just upset him."

Janet frowned. "You're sure?"

Again, she nodded, her chin set determinedly.

"All right," she sighed. "Let me get set up."

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Sam rhythmically clenched and released the comforter beneath her as she forced herself to placidity as Janet gently elevated her heels and directed her to bend her knees as the doctor guided her feet into the raised cuffs half way up her calves. Attempting to choke back the bolus of bile that rose to her throat as Janet sanitized her flesh, she struggled to remind herself of her location, of her company, of her safety.

But her mind slowly lost the battle...

The attendant helped her rise, this time slipping a hand beneath her shoulder as she faltered slightly when her feet hit the floor.

"Thank you," she whispered to the young girl, her eyes thick with a haze that seemed to never fully dissipate. As she regained her equilibrium, she walked haltingly over to the gilded doors where the guards waited for her patiently, ready to lead her into the throng of penitents who simultaneously loved her for what she gave them and despised her for the nature their doctrine ascribed to her. Each step drove a sharp stab of searing pain deep into her lower abdomen, like several bent nails being driven into her core by a metal mallet.

She nodded in silent thanks to the guards for opening the doors before her. Hearing their heavy footfalls directly behind her, she paused as she waited for them to again clear the way in front of her and usher her into The Passing room. The penitents bowed humbly towards her as they lined the walls of the ornate expanse, each quieting his own plea to Da'Ni'I as she passed.

After climbing the stairs to the altar, she eased herself onto the face of the slab, allowing them to bind her hands and feet in the metal cuffs. As the priest began to speak their ancient, sacred words over her prone body, she swallowed the tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks. It was happening again.

And she could not stop it.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, Sam," Janet said clearly, "You're going to feel a gentle prod as I insert the caliber, okay?" Hearing no response, she glanced up at Sam's face, her tightly closed eyes and pained grimace striking the doctor fully. "It'll be over soon, honey," she whispered. "I promise." Taking a deep breath, more for Sam's sake than her own, Janet slowly inserted the metal caliber into Sam's body.

Abruptly an anguished cry tore loudly from Sam's throat, her body clenching uncontrollably around the caliber.

"Sam!" Janet cried, carefully removing the instrument and dropping it to the floor before running over to her friend's side. "Honey," she soothed, "It's all right, it's okay. We don't have to do th--"

"NO!" Sam screamed as Janet reached out to smooth her hair, and began rapidly twisting her head from side to side, her face contorted in a cast of horrific fear. Sobs began racking her body and strings of desperate pleas issued hoarsely, painfully from her throat.

The door to the room burst open and Jack suddenly appeared beside Janet, surveying the scene before him with wide-eyed horror. Without bothering to ask what happened, he roughly pushed the doctor aside and knelt beside Sam, gingerly stilling her head between his palms. "Get her feet out of that thing," he called over his shoulder before turning back to the woman sobbing in front of him, lost somewhere in the dredges of her own past.

Forcing himself to remain impervious to her continued exhortations, Jack held Sam's face firmly between his hands, caressing her cheeks gently with his thumbs. "Sammie," he called urgently, "Samantha, open your eyes, baby. It's Jack." When she continued to struggle against him, her arms remaining fixed to her sides and her legs conspicuously stationary after having been freed from the confines of the exam cuffs, Jack swore softly and leapt to his feet to crawl up onto the bed next to her. He made no effort to move her, but knelt beside her, again taking her face in his hands and directing her to open her eyes.

"Sam, come on, honey," he whispered, "Baby, open your eyes. It's just Jack." He continued whispering platitudes to her until, finally, he was rewarded when her eyelids snapped open, her wide, terror-filled eyes desperately seeking his.

"J-Jack...?" She whispered through her continued sobs.

"Yeah," he affirmed, smiling and tenderly stroking her face. "Yeah, it's me."

At his words, her face crumbled and tears poured out of her eyes anew as she whispered hoarsely, "Make them stop." Reaching up to firmly grip the fabric of his shirt, her eyes pleaded desperately with him. "Make them stop..."

Looking deeply into her eyes and choking back his own sting of impending tears, Jack said, "They're just a memory, Sam. You're reme--"

"No," she cried, her eyes closing as she vehemently negated his words. Her voice straining and her body beginning to rapidly convulse, she issued a low, guttural moan as her hips bucked once off of the mattress. Powerless to stop this influx of memory, Jack released her head, allowing her to swing it desperately from side to side. After several arduous moments, she gasped, her eyes again finding his. "I-I can feel them, Jack..." she whispered when she regained the power to speak, her body still trembling violently. "I can f-feel them all around me..." She groaned again as another powerful convulsion claimed her, this time leaving her body tense, her head flung back against the pillow, and her face contorted in blinding pain. "God!" she cried when it was over. "Make them stop!"

"Baby," he whispered, his throat achingly tight, "look at me." When she finally found his gaze again, her terror mounting and tangible, he murmured, "Whatever happens, just try your damndest to keep looking at me, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, a choked sob escaping her lips and her hips bucking for a second time. "God," she whispered, "God, it hurts."

"I know it does, baby," Jack answered, smoothing her sweat- dampened hair away from her face. As her eyes closed and another spasm racked her body, he silently cursed and realized that no amount of coaxing would ease her out of this. Knowing what he had to do, but hating it just the same, he called to her softly. "Sam, tell me what's happening." She shuddered violently then as another anguished moan escaped her lips. "Sam," Jack repeated urgently, "tell me what's going on, baby. What are they doing to you?"

"He's...he's on me...his hands..." Her eyes closed tightly as her body rocked slightly back and forth against the mattress. "No," she groaned, her neck arched against the pillow, "No!" Her breaths coming in ragged gasps, Jack tried to direct her face back to his, but she would not let him. "God, stop!" she screamed, her body shaking uncontrollably.

"Baby, tell me what he's doing," Jack said softly, hating the answer before she even uttered it.

"He's..." she gasped faintly, her hands viciously clenching the comforter. "He's..."

"Is he inside you?" He whispered, his voice constricted as tears welled up in his eyes and slid silently down his cheeks.

Her eyes snapping open to tumble head-long into his, she nodded, her face wide and frantic. "God," she cried though tightly gritted teeth as her body again clenched involuntarily. "God, it hurts..." she whispered, eyes closed firmly against the pain. As the assault lessened in its intensity, her body still trembling, her eyes still thick with terror, she gazed up at Jack, her pupils dilated, but her eyes not quite seeing him. "So many..." she whispered, "...so many..."

Tenderly stroking her face, he whispered, "So many what, Sam?" When she did not respond, but started to slowly clench her abdomen, her torso curling into the mattress, he took her face gently in his hands and asked again, "So many what?"

She looked at him for a moment, her face fluxing between confusion and horror before she whispered at last, "Men...so many..." Tears suddenly brimming her eyes yet again, she began quaking violently, spurred this time by her revulsion and dread. "All of them..." she muttered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, "...for me..." Wonder slowly flitted across her pupils as she found the great number unfathomable. "...for me..." she whispered again, her horror apparent as the reality began to sink in. Sobs clutched violently at her chest as she again stiffened, low, protesting moans issuing unabashedly from her lips.

Firmly taking her face in hand again, he beckoned to her urgently, his tone laced with unacknowledged fear. "Sam!" he said. "Baby, look at me. Please, dear god, Sammie, open your eyes and look at me." His frustration and fear mounting as she continued to remain oblivious to his entreaties, he grasped her shoulders and shook her firmly, her name echoing from his lips.

To his great relief, huge, fearful eyes fell into his then and he buried his fingers in her hair, his palms pressed firmly against her cheekbones. "Fight them," he whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with feverish intensity. "Don't let them take you again, you hear me? Fight them."

Slowly, she began shaking her head back and forth, her dilated pupils once again misting over as great, heaving sobs racked her body. "I can't," she whispered between her gasps for breath.

"Yes," he insisted firmly, "you can."

Her eyes glided closed, again breaking their visual contact. He was about to call her name again when she breathed miserably, "No..." Opening her eyes slowly, she gazed at him, her eyes mourning as if in the wake of a death, "...they'll kill you..."

The words she had tearfully spoken in the bath last night flooded back to him. "They told me that I could either participate willingly or they would let me go and...and they would kill you and Daniel."

"...participate willingly..."

And then he understood. He understood her reluctance to fight, her aversion to referring to her assault as rape,' and the scope of her great and infinite suffering. He understood why she could not remember, why she remained steadfastly unaware as she had brutally carved her misery into the swells of her breasts; why she could not name her demons as such, but still jumped at the slightest hint of spatial intrusion. He was not witnessing what had occurred in that room; he was not seeing her responses as they had happened. This was the recollection of her unconscious mind, the progeny of bottled agony and the desperate, dying hope that perhaps history had not played out to such a harrowing end. Her conscious mind had been struggling to forget while her unconsciousness had been slowly dying to remember.

"Sam," he whispered, finally gathering her trembling body into his arms, "I know you didn't want this happen, I know you wanted to fight them, baby. God, I know all that." He drew a deep breath and pulled her tightly against his chest. "They can't hurt me anymore," he murmured, grasping her tremoring wrist and pressing her palm to the stubble along his cheek as she convulsed against him. "I'm right here, Sam," he whispered and placed a long, tender kiss on her forehead. "I'm right here."

Jack held her tightly for many long minutes as her spasms gradually lessened and then stopped altogether. He loosened his hold on her body when he felt her relax willingly against him, her head lolling against his shoulder, her muscles warm and decidedly supple. As she slowly began to stir, he gazed down at her heavily-lidded eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he glimpsed a wide swath of crystal blue surrounding her pupils.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching towards her to gently run his fingers through her hair, "there you are."

"Here I am," she breathed hoarsely, her eyelids slowly drooping closed as exhaustion slowly usurped her consciousness. As Jack began to gently lay her back onto the mattress, she clutched at his shirt and urgently whispered, "Don't leave."

Smiling softly, he bent to gently brush their lips together and then rested his forehead against hers. "Never," he whispered, and then settled her back onto the mattress before stretching out alongside her, leaning most of his upper body against the headboard. She instinctively shifted towards his warmth, nestling herself securely against him, her fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt. Placing a soothing hand over hers, he gently removed her hand from his chest and pressed it tenderly to his lips. "I love you," he whispered, reveling in the sound of her soft, steady breathing as she painlessly and wholly succumbed to an exhausted slumber.

----------------------------------------------------------

Jack gently moved an errant blond tendril away from Sam's face as she lay beside him, deep in the hold of sleep. It had been nearly an hour since she had first succumbed to her exhaustion and he thanked any deity listening for every blessed moment. Vaguely aware of voices droning quietly in the living room, he wondered how much of Sam's recollection the rest of them had witnessed. His curiosity would have to wait, however; he was not moving until Sam awoke, natural disasters, alien invasions, and biological functions be damned.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of the door as it shifted slightly open and Daniel poked his head hesitantly into the room. After Jack beckoned the younger man over, he quietly slipped in and shut the door behind him. Concern etching his features, Daniel peered over at Sam's softly breathing body before pulling up a chair next to the bed. "How is she?" he whispered.

"Exhausted," Jack replied, tenderly running his fingertips across the arm circling his waist.

"I don't blame her," Daniel said, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. "That looked pretty intense."

"You saw?"

Daniel nodded, his eyes downcast. "Yeah," he said. "The three of us left after she started to calm down. Jacob was about ready to tear your head off when you kept asking her to tell you what she was remembering."

Jack nodded and rested his head wearily against the headboard. "I didn't like asking, but she needed to tell someone," he muttered. "There was a reason she reacted so strongly to the test."

"Pelvic exam?"

"Yeah," Jack sighed. "I should've made Janet hold off on it for awhile, Danny. A few days at least. After the past few days, she needed a break from all of...this."

"Maybe," Daniel drawled. "But maybe this...remembering will end up being beneficial." He paused before regarding Jack with an upraised eyebrow. "You said there was a reason she reacted the way she did. Did you mean a reason other than the obvious one?"

Jack nodded, his head cocked towards Daniel, but his gaze resting on the far wall. "I think what we saw was what she wanted to happen on 275."

Daniel's eyes widened. "What do you mean, what she wanted to happen'? Why would she ever want that to happen to anyone, least of all herself?"

"She had to participate willingly, Daniel," Jack murmured. "I don't know what that means to them, but I know what it means to us." After a moment, he continued, "If she hadn't, they would have killed us both. And," he said sighing, "the...penetration of the...whatever it is, gave her the opportunity..."

"...to relive the experience sans willingness, to set it right in her mind," Daniel finished slowly, his eyes far away and his mind deep in thought. After a moment he whispered, "Wow."

Jack nodded. "Behold, the power of the unconscious."

"Well, yeah," Daniel agreed, "but I was thinking wow' more along the lines of the implications her sacrifice, for lack of a better term, bears in her relationship to us."

"Yeah," Jack muttered softly, sadly gazing down at the woman curled beside him. "But I would rather die than have her live through this."

"True," Daniel conceded, his forehead furrowing for a moment. "But at least this way you're both alive and..." he trailed off, pegging Jack with a pointed glance. "And together. Apparently that was more important to her than her safety."

Despite the circumstances, Jack smiled softly at his friend's words.

"And despite what other people may think," Daniel continued, casting a withering look over his shoulder in the general direction of the living room, "I think that now is as good a time as any, especially watching you handle the earlier...situation."

Jack flashed Daniel a look of gratitude before grousing, "Those two are still against us, huh?"

"Janet isn't, not anymore," he said immediately and then looked thoughtful for a moment before stating, "Let's just say that Dad's not entirely convinced."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Jack muttered rolling his eyes slightly.

"My thoughts exactly."

Jack chuckled wryly and placed his hand softly on Sam's head. Gazing down at her he murmured, "How bout that, Sam? We've been together for less than twenty-four hours and already your dad hates me. I think that's a new record."

Daniel frowned. "Less than twenty-four...?" He paused. "Jacob and Janet made it sound like you've been together since before this trip."

"What?" Jack shook his head. "No. We didn't...talk talk until after I heard for sure that she'd been kicked off the team."

"So you didn't sleep together the night she...hurt...herself."

Jack sighed, his frustration building, and struggled to keep his voice low and his movement to a minimum lest he awaken Sam. "Well, we did sleep together, but that's all we did. Sleep." He paused. "She needed someone," he muttered, "and I was there. She probably would've slept with you had you been the one with her."

Daniel's eyebrows rose a bit at Jack's last comment. "Oh," he said slowly, "I doubt that...You were the one she wanted on the planet and in the infirmary when we brought her back. She asked you to go in with her during her psych evaluation." He paused and regarded Jack carefully, a slow smile spreading over his face. "It's always been you, Jack. Even when she couldn't have you...it was you just the same."

Jack's eyes never wavered from Sam's face as Daniel spoke, his throat suddenly tight as he recognized the truth of the man's statements. As much as he had wanted to be with her, to hold her as her mind remembered what her Self had tried so urgently to forget, to soothe the nightmares that invaded not only her sleep, but her waking hours as well, to love her as she needed to be loved...she had yearned for it--yearned for him--just as desperately. He had seen it in her eyes, felt it as she lay against him, her body soft and supple, and he had witnessed it the previous night when he had asked for her heart and she had willingly given it to him.

No, he realized. She had given him her heart a long time ago, just as he had given her his. But last night, the words that he had hungered to speak for so long were finally granted permission to be spoken. Their conversation had merely been a formality, a chance to give their minds time to absorb what their hearts already knew.

Smiling and lost wondrously in thought, Jack blinked and looked up when Daniel uttered a low, conspicuous cough. "I'm gonna go," he said, "Janet wanted to go into town to pick up some prescriptions for Sam and I seem to remember something about Jacob saying he needed a shotgun..."

Jack smiled dryly at the young man's jab, muttering, "Funny. Why are you going?"

A sardonic smile stretched across his face and he nodded once, his lips pursed. "Because I am the chauffer. Apparently, neither one of them were paying attention on the way up here, so I was elected driver."

"Fun, fun," Jack muttered as Daniel rose to his feet.

"Yeah-sure-ya-betcha," Daniel whispered to him before bending down and placing a chaste kiss on the top of Sam's head. When she stirred slightly beneath him, the young man froze, his eyes wide as he glanced at Jack. He could see only the top of the man's graying head as Jack peered down to look at Sam's face. Her eyebrows were furrowed slightly and, as she snuggled herself closer to Jack, her shiver was unmistakable. Jack had covered her with the thin, handmade blanket at the foot of the bed, but he knew that recently she tended to grow steadily colder the longer she slept.

"She's just cold," Jack whispered to Daniel, to the younger man's immense relief. "You wanna get the quilt out of the closet and hand it to me? It's on the top shelf." Daniel quietly slid the closet door open and pulled out a worn patchwork quilt, its faded colors indicative of its age and extent of its usage. He unfurled it before walking over to the bedside and gently laying it over Sam, tucking the edges in under her feet while Jack settled the covering around her shoulders.

"Thanks," Jack whispered.

Daniel nodded, smiling slightly, and silently exited the room, making certain to close the door behind him.

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Jack dozed off and on after hearing the front door latch and the engine of Daniel's rental burst to life and fade into the distance. Loathe to fall too deeply asleep lest he snooze through Sam's return to cognizance, he contented himself to slowly drift along the ebbs and flows of semi-consciousness. About a half hour after Daniel, Jacob, and Janet had left for Silver Bay, Jack's eyelids flew open as Sam stirred restlessly beside him.

"Jack..." she muttered, her arm around his waist tightening minutely as her head burrowed deeply into his shoulder.

"Sshh, baby," he whispered, tenderly stroking her tangled hair and pulling her closer to his body. "I'm right here." Stay asleep, he pleaded silently. You need the rest.

But his entreaties remained unheeded as she slowly drifted back into awareness. "What time is it?" she groggily muttered, freeing one hand from the blanket to rub the sleep from her eyes.

"1722," he answered softly. After placing a kiss on the top of her head, he murmured, "Go back to sleep, Sammie. You have to be exhausted."

"I am," she agreed readily, her voice adorably slurred as her brain struggled to wake up. "But I don't wanna sleep anymore." Pausing as a tremendous yawn overcame her, she rolled away from Jack to stretch languidly, audibly cracking several of her joints in the process. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled back against Jack's side and murmured, "You're nice and warm."

Smiling affectionately at her and her endearing state of sleepiness, he said, "And you're nice and cuddly." Feeling her chuckle softly against his chest, he lifted her head gently and scooted down until his entire body was stretched out next to her. "C'mere," he whispered, opening his arms to her.

Gravitating willing towards him, she pressed herself fully against his side, resting one bent knee on his thigh and hugging him tightly. As her grip gradually lessened and the clock ticked closer and closer to the hour, he thought that perhaps she had drifted off again; but several moments later, her voice barely audible, she whispered, "Thank you."

Puzzled, he turned his head towards her, his lips centimeters away from her forehead. "For what?"

Obligingly releasing her body as she slowly raised herself to her knees to look down at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, she said, "For not leaving me. For helping me fight."

Jack gazed up at her, speechless. A simple acceptance of her gratitude seeming rather foolish, he sat up and slowly closed the space between them, smiling inwardly as Sam met him half-way, her lips already parted slightly to allow his lips and tongue immediate entrance. Twining her arms around his neck as he thoroughly kissed her and buried his fingers in her hair, she gasped slightly when he broke free of her mouth and gently pulled her head back before placing a line of soft kisses along the underside of her jaw. Tenderly, he claimed her mouth once more, his fingers running soothing caresses along her cheeks as she slowly drew back from him. Afraid that he had crossed an unknown boundary, he opened his eyes, his gaze wary. But her eyes were still closed and a small smile danced about her parted lips as if she was savoring the last delicious moments of their kiss. When she slowly opened her eyes, his own were smiling back at her, drinking in her look of utter satisfaction. Silently, he began to urge her back to bed, back for a few more hours of much needed rest and frowned slightly when she shook her head.

Gazing down at her hands cradled in her lap, she was suddenly overwhelmed by her own nervousness as she whispered, "I was wondering if you wanted to take a shower."

Immediately he understood her implication, knowing that she was frightened to be alone with herself in that environment. Gently cupping her chin, he murmured, "Why? I smell that bad?"

She chuckled softly at his quip and raised her head to look at him, her eyes replete with relief.

Throwing the covers aside, he climbed out of bed and took her hand, helping her as she rose unsteadily to her feet. "You okay?" he asked as he grasped her elbows to steady her, his eyes wavering with concern.

"Yeah," she answered, winding one arm around his and leaning heavily against him. "Just a little light-headed."

"You're sure you're okay to shower?"

She nodded. "It'll pass, just give me minute. Besides," she added, smiling slightly, "you smell." He smirked and wrapped one arm protectively around her shoulders, watching her carefully as her equilibrium reestablished itself. After a few moments, she nodded again and shifted her hand to rest in the crook of his arm. "Okay," she said, tugging on him gently, "let's go."

"Yes, ma'am."

-------------------------------------------------------

The gentle spray of the hot water felt like heaven. Sam could feel the perpetual ache of her muscles gradually recede until it shrunk into a dull, manageable throb; her bones grew warm under the intensity of the encompassing heat, their marrow humming with delight at the reintroduction of this forgotten sensation. She sighed softly and closed her eyes as Jack poured a dollop of shampoo onto her wet hair and massaged it thoroughly into the tangled strands, his strong hands tenderly draining the tension from her scalp. After several minutes, Jack turned her to face him and tipped her chin back, clearing her hair and body of the herbal-scented foam. She stayed facing him as he worked conditioner through her hair, her eyes remaining closed and her hands alighting softly on his bare chest for counter-balance.

His hands leaving her for a moment, she heard the cap of her body wash being flipped open and then smiled as its gentle fragrance filled the air. Starting slightly as she felt a bath sponge land softly on her shoulder, she opened her eyes when she felt it hastily disappear. Jack stood before her, water streaming down his chest in gentle rivulets, his eyes apologetic and questioning. Smiling reassuringly at him, she turned around and glanced quickly over her shoulder only to be rewarded seconds later as Jack understood her intent and began slowly working the sponge along her back, neck, and shoulders. When he was finished, he tentatively shifted her to gain better access to each of her arms in turn, moving her back to her original position when he was done.

Feeling his presence inch closer to her, she was prepared when his voice sounded softly in her ear. "Do you want to finish?"

The thought of cleansing her own body, of having to look at herself again, drove a sharp spear of dread into the pit of her stomach. Shaking her head, her eyes widening, she quickly answered, "No," and before she could stop herself, continued, "please don't make me." Closing her eyes at the slip her fear had engendered, she sighed heavily as Jack's hands lightly grasped her upper arms and pulled her back to settle against his chest.

"I'm not going to make you do anything, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing the ridge of her ear. She nodded and pressed her hands against her face, her eyes sliding tightly closed. After a few moments he whispered, "Do you want me to finish up or do you want to get out?"

Drawing a deep breath, she pulled away from him somewhat before gradually turning to face him. Looking up at him, into the loving depths of his warm brown eyes, she said softly, "You can finish."

"You're sure?" he asked, his eyebrows arched.

She nodded, her eyes falling shut as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Jack gingerly drew the sponge in small circles along the ridge of her collarbones and then down the valley between her breasts to gently cleanse her abdomen. Working up a hefty lather, he moved it carefully around the sides of her body and then returned to her chest, gently cupping both of her breasts in turn and whisking the edge of the sponge around the bandages.

Stooping to kneel in front of her, he began to run the sponge along her legs only to halt his movements when he heard her sharp intake of breath. Rising quickly, his eyebrows furrowed as he observed the renewed tension along her shoulders and jaw, and the conspicuous inward collapse of her body. Resisting the urge to curse himself, fully aware that his own guilt would serve no useful purpose, he crooked a finger beneath her chin and gently directed her head back into the stream of water. Running his fingers through her hair repeatedly, he simultaneously rinsed out the conditioner and attempted to soothe part of this renewed stress. Finally, he pulled her out from under the spray and, after placing a soft kiss on the ridge of her cheekbone, he helped her out of the tub, saying, "Give me a minute to wash up."

Nodding, her eyes downcast, she wrapped one of the bath towels around her body and sank heavily onto the closed toilet seat. Staring blankly ahead, lost in her own world of rampant thought and revelation, she did not notice when the water stopped and Jack stepped out of the shower, pausing to sling the other towel low around his hips.

"Hey," he said softly as he squatted in front of her, his short, wet hair spiking out in a multitude of different directions. "Why the long face, Mr. Ed?" Frowning when she failed to respond, he gently cradled her jaw in his palm. Her eyes remained fixed over his shoulder, her face slack and expressionless. "Sam?" he called quietly, running his thumb softly across her cheek. "What're you thinking, baby?"

A few moments passed before her lips parted and a silent, deep breath filled her lungs. "They raped me..." she whispered, the reality hitting her squarely as she forced the thought into words. "It really happened, didn't it?"

He sighed, his eyes slipping painfully closed. "Yeah," he murmured, his eyebrows creasing at the admission. "Yeah, it did." She said nothing, her body remaining slack and heavy as her two minds slowly melded together, their conjoining cemented by her realization and his reluctant affirmation. It did happen and as willing as she had appeared, she had not been; she had suppressed her disgust, her torment, and now her body numbed as the amalgamation of her two minds slowly usurped her full consciousness, leaving her vacant, spent, and utterly exhausted. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet and tugged her gently towards their bedroom. "Come on," he whispered, "let's get you dressed." She obediently followed him, her new awareness deeply weighting the movements of her fragile, weakened body.

Closing the bedroom door softly behind them, Jack led her to the edge of the bed and gently urged her to sit; she did, her eyes still unfocused and hazy. Quickly perusing the offerings in the dresser, he selected a pair of black fleece pants and, locating her favorite sweatshirt of his, pulled the white hooded garment out from between his stock of hockey jerseys. After nabbing a pair of cotton underwear for her, he placed them beside her on the bed and asked, "Do you want me to help you?" Nodding as she numbly shook her head, he turned back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of old jeans and a Minnesota Timberwolves jersey. Promptly toweling himself off, he pulled on a pair of fresh boxers and then donned his selected clothing. Not wanting to invade Sam's privacy, he hesitantly glanced over at her and, seeing that she was fully dressed, silently offered her a hand up. She accepted it, her eyes densely packed with conflicting emotion, and followed him as he led her towards the living room and into the kitchen.

When he released her hand and walked over to the cupboards, she sank wearily into one of the kitchen chairs, her hands resting limply in her lap. As Jack set a glass of water and two ibuprofen on the table in front of her, she simply stared at them for a moment and then, sensing his scrutiny, placed the tablets in her mouth and washed them down with a large sip of water. As the liquid coursed over her parched tongue and down her throat, she realized the extent of her dehydration and proceeded to sip the fluid as Jack cracked open two cans of soup and poured their contents into a saucepan. She watched him as he hovered over the stove, wooden spoon in hand, adjusting the heat of the flame beneath their slowly warming supper.

He loved her, she remembered suddenly. This man--this kind, gentle, and patient man--loved her. How could she have forgotten, and so quickly after he had told her?

Shifting through the numbing flux of two memories' progeny, she remembered also the devastating humiliation she had been forced to endure on 275, the comprehensive debilitation to which she had been forced to succumb.

But he loved her.

She remembered their sweaty, work-roughened skin as their driving weight ground her fiercely against the face of the stone altar; their respect for her that had turned so swiftly into pulsing hate.

But he _loved_ her.

remembered the repulsion that had consumed them as they stared down at her after she had taken away their sin, her own disgust of herself growing to rival that of her abusers.

But he _loved her_.

remembered the force with which they had ripped into her body and thrust into her depths, heedlessly plunging themselves towards release, their sin spilling into her body as their euphoric cries echoed loudly throughout the vast chamber.

But _he loved her_.

remembered their horrible ultimatum and her failure to conceive a feasible alternative; her lack of recourse, her vacuity of hope; her helpless submission to their brutality; and her mind's slow and torturous deconstruction into a dichotomy.

But he **still** loved her.

Here, under the encroaching evening's waning light, dressed in an old pair of sweatpants and his sweatshirt, her feet bare, her hair tangled and dripping, the edges of her face softly blurred by the flux of recollection,

_he loved her_.

Placing her glass on the table, she shakily rose and shuffled towards him, her eyes misting slightly as she advanced. Hearing her movement, Jack turned to look at her and, seeing her watery eyes and trembling hands outstretched towards him, set the spoon against the rim of the saucepan before gathering her carefully against his chest.

"I remember," she whispered against his shoulder, her voice violently quaking with irrepressible sorrow. "I remember everything..."

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"You know, for someone who speaks twenty-something languages, you sure have a hard time remembering Swelgert,'" Jacob said as Daniel went about the delicate task of turning the car around on the narrow, winding road.

"I don't have a hard time remembering Swelgert,'" Daniel retorted softly, peering quickly around the vehicle to check for oncoming traffic. "I just have trouble remembering which moose crossing the turn is after."

"It's the third one," Janet intoned from the back seat.

Daniel glared at her in the rear view mirror and righted the car. "Now you tell me."

"You didn't ask."

"And you said you didn't remember the way back out here."

"Children," Jacob interrupted them, a scowl set deeply into the grooves of his face. "Can we please stop arguing and just get back to the cabin? I don't like the idea of Sam being alone this long."

Daniel frowned as he directed the car onto Swelgert road, the gravel washboards shaking the vehicle gently as he eased forward. "She's not alone. Jack's with her."

"Sorry if I'm not imbued with confidence, Danny," Jacob said, his jaw set in a firm line. "I know he's your friend, and he's a damn fine officer, but his judgment regarding my daughter leaves a lot to be desired."

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked, casting a quick glance to Janet in the backseat. She had unbuckled her safety belt and sat perched on the edge in the middle of the bench seat, her face turned to regard Jacob with hard, questioning eyes.

The old man sighed and stared out the window, wishing vainly that he had kept his mouth shut. "I mean pushing Sam into a relationship right after this whole thing on that goddamn planet. Anyone with sense would know better--"

"Than to forsake the one they love for the sake of supposed propriety," Janet finished, her voice soft and reproachful. "Jack loves your daughter, General. He has for a long time." Recalling the words the colonel had been forced to speak a year or so ago, she said, "He'd rather die himself than lose her."

"Jack didn't push her into anything," Daniel intoned, glancing sidelong at the man beside him. "They've been together for less than twenty-four hours. He waited until he heard from the general about Sam's status as a member of SG-1 before broaching the subject."

"Sounds pretty honorable to me," Janet said pointedly before sighing. "I understand your position, General. While I did tell Jack that Sam would need him during her recovery, I didn't mean to this extent immediately after the start of it. But..." she trailed off, her shoulders shrugging slightly. "...that's what she wants."

"Has it occurred to either of you that perhaps Sam isn't thinking clearly right now?" Jacob stormed, his eyes blazing.

"Yes, actually, sir," Janet informed him crisply. "It has. But after seeing the way he handled her flashback--"

"That wasn't a flashback," Jacob sharply interrupted, "that was a fucking mental breakdown."

"Perhaps," the doctor conceded, "but the fact remains that Sam was not afraid of him and even allowed him to guide her through it."

"Guide her through it!" Jacob said incredulously, his voice raising slightly in the confines of the car. "You call that guiding her through it! He was perpetuating it, Janet. He was forcing her to remember what happened!"

"Actually," Daniel ventured, carefully keeping his tone decidedly neutral. "Jack has an...interesting theory regarding...that."

Jacob's eyebrow arched skeptically at the young man. "He does?"

"Yes." Daniel cleared his throat quietly before recapping what Jack had told him hours previously. "He thinks that she was remembering what she wanted to happen on 275--Let me finish," he quickly added as Jacob's mouth opened to vehemently object. Taking in a deep draught of air, he continued, "She was forced to willingly submit to her captors. If she didn't, they would have killed both Jack and myself. So through reliving the experience in a relatively safe environment, she was able to mentally reconcile what she wanted to do--scream, fight, etc.--with what she was forced to do."

"Which was to lie there and passively..." Janet muttered, her eyes widening as Daniel delineated this new information. "Oh, god..." she whispered, "Poor Sam..."

Jacob said nothing, his mind churning over the horrid abuses his daughter had been forced to endure for the sake of the men that she loved...for the sake of the man she loved. He stared at the dashboard, his mouth agape and his eyes transfixed as if hypnotized by the peripheral unfurling of the surrounding forest.

_You knew_, a voice softly pointed out. _You knew long ago that her feelings for him could one day drive her to something of this severity._

Sighing as he reluctantly conceded the accuracy of Selmak's observation, he thought _Yes, but their duty--_

_No longer binds them,_ Selmak gently intoned. _And it never made concession for the complex scenario in which they found themselves. As an officer, she sacrificed her Self and saved the life of her commanding officer; as a woman, she saved the life of the man she loves. Such actions do merit a response, Jacob, especially in light of his emotional reciprocity. Would it please you if he simply watched her succumb to madness instead of aiding her through her turmoil?_

Jacob sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly between his thumb and forefinger. _No_, he admitted. _But I'm her father, Selmak. Seeing her like this...it's damn hard._

_I know_, she soothed, his impending headache lessening as she worked to relieve the pressure of the constricting blood vessels. _Trust her, Jacob. Despite her fragility of mind and body, she does know. He will not harm her._

Yeah. Just...give me some time to get that through my thick skull, all right?

Selmak chuckled softly. _Of course, my friend. Of course._

As they pulled into the driveway, he automatically reached for his seatbelt as Daniel parked the car beside Jack's truck and deftly performed the motions required to exit the vehicle and walk towards the cabin. The sun was setting in the distance and the light chill in the air was off-set by the promised warmth offered by the smoke softly wafting up from the chimney. As they approached the front steps, the sound of Sam's voice floated haltingly through the open windows, simultaneously stopping all of them in their tracks.

"...would perform some sort of ceremony at the start of...of everything. She poured some kind of musky oil...o-over me and then pressed soft cloths against..." Her voice stopped only to be replaced moments later with Jack's low timbre.

"It's okay," they heard him tell her. "Take your time, baby. You don't have to tell me everything at once."

"It's too much, Jack..." She was crying now, the vibration of tears caught softly in her throat. "God, it's just...all in my head and I can't...god..."

"Does talking about it help?"

Faint sniffling meandered out from the screened casements. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, it does."

"Do you want to keep going?" There was a pause, presumably as she nodded as he then said, "Okay, there was a young girl performing a ceremony..."

Daniel turned to Janet and Jacob, his hands stuffed deep within his pockets and his eyes hesitant in the fading light. "So, I'd, uh, feel a bit...odd going in there right now."

"Yeah," Janet murmured, glancing up at Daniel. "Same here."

They each regarded Jacob, his silence unsettling in light of his lost, longing stare at the open window.

Trust her, Selmak softly exhorted him, her voice wafting around his mind like the tendrils of a dream dreamt long ago. Trust her and let her go.

His eyes closed as he drew a deep breath, his mind churning with the profundity of Selmak's counsel and the opposing yearnings of his heart. He wanted to be the one holding her, the one easing her through her suffering...but she would come to him when she had need. She loved Jack, he knew, but she still was his little girl. His brave, beautiful Samantha.

"Yeah," he muttered eventually, his tone wistful, but decidedly firm. "Let's go back to town and grab something to eat." Selmak's presence in his mind eased, her approval and comfort wrapping around his thoughts like a warm blanket.

Daniel was quiet a minute before softly venturing, "You buying?"

A small smile touched on Jacob's lips. "Yeah, kid," he said. "I'm buyin'." As they turned back towards the car in tandem, he added, "But only if you'll let me drive." Selmak chuckled as the keys landed in Jacob's palm.

"You got it."

------------------------------------------------

Jack groaned inwardly as he heard the muffled roar of an engine approaching and began mentally shouting at Daniel to herd everyone back into the sedan and drive them to a place far, far away. He and Sam had been curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace for nearly fifteen minutes, the past ten of which had been eerily silent--Sam had been searching for words to contain the breadth of her excruciating narrative while he sat quietly beside her, encompassing her with his warmth and silently assuring her of his devotion.

When she had told him that she remembered--remembered everything--he had held her for a short while before quietly asking if she wanted to impart to him her recollections. When she had nodded, he promptly turned off the stove and escorted her into the living room; he built the fire at her timid request but elected to leave the windows partly open to prevent the rest of the cabin from overheating. She did not mind, she had said; from her place in front of the fire, she could not feel the light draft. After he had gotten the fire started, he had eased himself down beside her, welcoming the gentle pressure of her weary body against his chest with open arms.

Now, only minutes into her account, it appeared as if she would be forced to contain the entirety of the description for an undetermined length of time.

"The attendant, I guess she was...she was only fifteen or sixteen...and so sad, Jack--" she swallowed bitterly, oblivious to the dull throb of the encroaching engine. "She was too young to see that kind of..." Her eyes shut painfully as she recalled the young woman's face as she had gently tended to Sam's injuries and prepared her body for the onslaught yet to come. "She would ah...would perform some sort of ceremony at the start of...of everything. She poured some kind of musky oil...o-over me and then pressed soft cloths against..." She trailed off, her head turning once from side to side, unable to form the words.

"It's okay," he told her softly as he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of her head. "Take your time, baby. You don't have to tell me everything at once."

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled quickly down her cheeks. Roughly wiping them from her skin, she said, "It's too much, Jack..." Leaning forward to bury her head against her knees, she managed, "God, it's just...all in my head and I can't...god..."

Placing his hand lightly on her back, he asked her softly, "Does talking about it help?"

She sniffled and slowly sat up beside him again, shifting herself securely against his side. "Yeah," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Yeah, it does."

"Do you want to keep going?" She nodded but did not speak. After several silent seconds, he gently prompted, "There was a young girl performing a ceremony..."

"Right," she murmured, her chest expanding as she breathed deeply, trying to gain some semblance of thought. "She poured the oil...between...between my legs and then pressed it into me with cloths. She was so gentle, so scared of hurting me. And when the guards called for me, she always looked...desperate, like she wanted to do something, but couldn't. After that first day, I couldn't--couldn't get off of that table by myself. She helped to my feet and I--I had to follow them, the guards into...into that--" her voice broke and she swallowed before whispering bitterly, "that damned room. There were men packed against the walls, all of them saying prayers to their god...when I passed them, they bowed to me...but they didn't look at me, they weren't supposed to look at me until--until it was their time..." She paused to draw another deep breath and her words grew steadily faster as she progressed through the chronology burned into her now reconciled mind.

"I climbed the stairs to the altar, it was stone, hard, cold stone that scraped against my back if I moved at all. I laid down on it and they--chained my hands and feet to its corners. They were tight--the cuffs--but the chain wasn't." She faltered slightly, her body trembling as her mind forced it to remember. "It wasn't because...because they needed to--to move my legs for the priest. They grabbed my ankles while the priest chanted and--and pushed them...pushed them against my thighs--so that I was...open when the priest...when..." She stopped, her body silently pulsing with disgust as she recalled the next series of events.

Jack rested his head against Sam's, closing his eyes as he felt her tremors escalate in time with her mind's mad rush against her past. "When the priest what, baby?" he whispered to her, his voice low and soothing. "What did the priest do to you?"

Tears cascading down her cheeks, she gasped suddenly for air as sobs racked her body, punctuating her next halting string of phrases. "He...he had a--a...staff, a long, round--staff, metal with a--a blunt point...the top was--was rough...like they had shaved it--" She paused suddenly, and drew a deep draught of air into her lungs, her eyes tightly closed and her fists clenched around the edges of the blanket pulled over her knees.

When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, lower, yet insistently vacant. "It had hundreds of points, tiny glints just barely visible. But when he...god, it tore me apart...it fucking tore me apart. I could feel it. I could feel it when he thrust it into my body, I could hear my skin screaming, but...but it wasn't my flesh, Jack..." She had relinquished her hold on the blanket, her hands lying loosely in her lap as she turned her head towards him slightly, her eyes wandering absently over the space above his right knee. "My flesh wasn't screaming," she muttered to herself as if the fact had never occurred to her. Her face filled with a wide, fearful wonder, she looked up at him and whispered, "It was me. I was screaming."

She paused, her eyes shifting down to his chest, filled with a disconcerting, bitter haze. "I was screaming and all they did was watch. They didn't try to help, they didn't stop, they didn't do anything except keep coming, one after another after another..." Tears forming again in the back of her throat, she paused for several long moments before whispering, "And I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Finally, as she succumbed to tears, Jack wrapped his arms around her trembling body, and pulled her as close to himself as he could, unable to speak in the face of her misery. As his hand soothed over her back, he painfully closed his eyes against his tears as he heard her anguished whisper.

"I wanted to die, Jack. I wanted them to kill me so that it would all just stop."

Tightening his grasp on her body, he pressed his lips against her temple, communicating to her in that one gesture the depth of his understanding and the boundlessness of his love. He only hoped it would be enough.

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Daniel hesitantly opened the front door of Jack's cabin at exactly 2204, roughly four hours after he, Jacob, and Janet had attempted to return the first time. Taking a quick glance around the room and seeing no one, the expanse silent except for the intermittent crackling of the dying fire, he nodded to his companions and smiled tiredly as they each waved a silent, weary goodnight and headed for their respective bedrooms. Daniel, his throat parched from the cigarette smoke he had been forced to inhale during their super-deluxe stay at one of Silver Bay's many bars, quietly made his way to the kitchen for a much-needed glass of water.

"Wanna grab me a beer?"

Daniel's head snapped toward the direction from which Jack's hushed voice had issued, squinting into the darkness in order to make out the faint outline of his friend's head against the orange blush of the fire. Frowning, he retrieved the required beverages against the glow of the dying embers. Drinks in hand, he padded back into the living room and handed Jack his beer before plopping down in the chair next to the couch, angling it slightly towards his friend. His eyebrows arched as he observed Sam's body huddled compactly against Jack's side; her legs were pulled tightly, protectively against her chest while her head rested against his ribcage at an awkward angle. The fingers of her right hand peeked out from underneath the folds of the thin blanket that covered her; she looked decidedly vulnerable and entirely spent.

Shifting his gaze from Sam to the sharp line of Jack's profile, Daniel muttered, "...dj vu..."

Jack did not answer him, electing instead to twist the cap off of his beverage and immediately down the first third. Daniel frowned. "I take it your little talk didn't go...well."

"Oh no," Jack murmured, his voice dangerously low. "It went fine. Fucking fabulous actually."

Daniel's eyebrows shot up as he instinctively leaned back to give Jack's fury a wide berth. After clearing his throat softly, he murmured, "Well, that's...good, I guess." He paused. "That is good...right?"

"Sure," Jack muttered staring deeply into the warm glow of the fireplace. "Damn near perfect." The words echoed in the thick glass cavern of his bottle as he pressed his lips to the opening and took three large swallows of the golden liquid.

Daniel sat silently for several minutes, watching Jack as he downed the last of his beer and tossed the bottle softly to the carpeted floor beside him. Glancing from the abandoned bottle to Jack's profile, he asked softly, "Need another?"

Jack nodded. "Two if you got em."

"O...kay," Daniel whispered when he was out of earshot, silently hoping that Jack was not planning on drinking himself into a stupor tonight, especially with Sam curled immediately beside him. Promising himself that he would not let Jack's drinking get out of hand, Daniel nabbed the bottles from the fridge and ambled back to his chair.

"I'm cutting you off after these two," Daniel said quietly, handing over the beverages. "Janet, Selmak, and I just spent four hours convincing Sam's father that this relationship is beneficial. The last thing any of us need is him waking up to his daughter cuddled next to you passed out drunk."

Again, Jack simply nodded and twisted the cap off of one of the bottles before tipping it to his lips for a long pull.

Daniel watched him swallow before asking, "So you gonna tell me what this booze fest is about?"

"You heard her, right?" Jack muttered, his tone clipped.

Daniel nodded. "I caught enough to know that we probably wouldn't be welcome," he answered, choosing his words quite carefully.

"Yeah," Jack agreed softly and took another draught from his bottle.

After several moments' silence, Daniel frowned, his hands splaying before him. "So...?"

"So, what?" Jack muttered, obviously frustrated, and rubbed his free hand across his eyes. "You heard what she was talking about."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. "But I still haven't heard you say how that explains all the, um, bottles."

Jack's eyes flashed angrily and he struggled to remain still so as not to wake the woman sleeping beside him. "How that explains the...God, Daniel, you are naive."

"I wouldn't say that," he answered smoothly.

Jack sighed angrily. "You wanna hear me say it? Fine. She sat here and told me a part--a small part, mind you--of what happened to her on that fucking planet when there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do to help her." He paused, his fingers tapping absently against the bottle in his hand. "...not a goddamn thing I could do," he muttered, raising the beer to his lips.

"No," Daniel agreed, his face long with growing sadness. "No, there wasn't."

"She couldn't even cry, Daniel," he whispered, his eyes staring mournfully into the fire, his body slackening as his rage dissipated. "Couldn't fight back, couldn't scream when they were... All she could do--" He closed his eyes briefly, his throat tight and suddenly very dry. "--all she could do was lay there and let them..." He trailed off, unable to bring the sentence to its gruesome completion. "If Hammond hadn't locked out the coordinates, I would go back right now and kill those mother fuckers with my bare hands."

Daniel nodded in silent agreement. Casting a quick glance at Sam's frail body, he muttered, "Somehow, I don't think you'd be the only one on that mission."

Silence enveloped them, casting each to his respective thoughts for a short while. Then, Jack whispered, "She told me that she wanted them to kill her...that she wanted to die," jerking Daniel harshly out of his reverie.

He stared wide-eyed at Jack for a brief moment before gazing down sharply at the orange-tinged carpet. Biting at the inside skin of his lower lip, he slowly absorbed the implications of his friend's statement. Softly, his voice deadly serious, he asked, "Do you think she's suicidal?"

Jack closed his eyes and sighed heavily, his hand coming to rest instinctively on the crown of Sam's head. Tenderly smoothing the knotted blond strands away from her face, he whispered, "I don't know, Daniel...I wouldn't doubt it, but..." He trailed off, obviously pained by the admission.

"But what?" Daniel prodded gently.

"Goddammit, I don't know. I'm not a shrink," he answered curtly. Sighing, Jack closed his eyes, his head hanging heavily from his neck until his chin rested against his chest. After a moment, he looked down at Sam resting obliviously next to him, his eyes misting tenderly as he scrutinized her lax features. "I do know," he offered softly, his voice strained with imminent tears, "that I don't want to lose her...I can't, not now..." Lovingly brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek, he murmured hoarsely, "God, I love you, Sammie." He smiled softly as she sighed in response to his caress and shifted closer to him, her fingers gently curling into the fabric of his shirt as she slowly breathed his name.

Daniel silently observed the quiet exchange, a smile gradually lightening his features as he heard Sam's hushed response to Jack's declaration. Rising silently from his chair, he leaned over and softly clapped Jack on the shoulder before heading to the kitchen to deposit his glass in the sink. With one last look back at Jack silhouetted by the dying flames of the fire, he trudged out of the kitchen and to his room for a night of much needed, much deserved rest. He only hoped that it would find him before the first light of morning.

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Jack grunted as he brought the axe down on the cut surface of the log, his ego swelling in satisfaction as the blow split the wood into two halves. It was mid-morning and the air was still cool from the recent lapse of sun. Even so, his brow was slick with perspiration and his shirt lay several feet away from him, having been shucked when Jack had decided the fabric was more a detriment to the arch of the blade than a benefit.

He had left Sam shortly after breakfast; she had found an old science fiction novel buried in the troves of the bookcase and had requisitioned a corner of the couch on which to delve into the pages. Smiling as he thought of her curled up amongst the cushions-- book in one hand, cup of coffee in the other, her eyes darting back and forth across the page while her teeth worked absently across her upper lip--the clear, biting echo of a gun shot caught him off-guard.

It had come from inside the house.

The axe falling heavily from his upraised hands, he stared transfixed for several seconds, his eyes telling him that everything--the house, the porch, the morning--was as it should be, that the shot had been fired from miles away. Some poacher, a frightened camper, someone, anyone but...

"...Sam..." he murmured, horrified as the name lashed through his throat as if he had screamed it. Vaguely aware of his feet hitting the walk and then the stairs to the porch, he frantically tore at the door handle and searched the living room. Her coffee was sitting on the floor in front of the couch; her book was laying face down, the pages splayed to keep her place; the blanket he had tucked carefully around her shoulders before softly kissing her good-bye lay crumpled around the small imprint her body had left on the cushion.

"Sam!" he called desperately as he raced down the hallway, his blood thundering loudly in his ears. "Samantha!" He pushed open the door to the bathroom--dark and cold; the first guest room--musty, empty; the second--nothing; their room--

He stopped.

"Oh god, no..."

---------------------------------------------------------

"Sam!" Jack called, his eyes snapping open as he sat up abruptly. His heart pounding frenetically, his chest lurched for breath as a cold sweat broke out over his body.

"Jack, what's wrong?"

He turned towards the sound of her voice--very close, very near--and gasped her name in relief when he saw her troubled eyes still somewhat clouded by sleep. Reaching out towards her, his sweaty palms tenderly encased her jaw before winding his arms around her body to clasp her desperately to his chest. "Oh god, Sam..." he gasped softly, his breathing slowly stabilizing as her sweet warmth gradually melded with his.

Sam laid her head against his chest, the crease of her brow deepening as she heard the wild beating of his heart. "Jack," she asked softly, "what is it, baby?"

God, that word sounded so good rolling off of her lips.

His hand came up to cradle her head as he moved his legs up onto the couch and then gently pulled her down as he lay stretched across the cushions, yearning suddenly to feel her body pressed, whole and complete, against his own. Obliging his silent, urgent request, she settled herself on top of him, her right leg unconsciously curling over and around his left. They laid together for many quiet minutes, Sam listening to the slowing of his heartbeat and reassuringly tracing patterns along the fabric of his shirt while Jack reveled in the gentle pressure of her body pressing him deeper into the cushions and ran his fingers through her hair.

She was waiting, he knew; patiently waiting for him to spell out the cause of his upset. But, despite how much she had confided in him earlier, he was not certain he would be able to put the images of his nightmare into words...especially for her.

Finally he broke the silence. "Promise me something," he whispered.

Her fingers ceased their gentle caresses as she paused, considering his request, and then shifted to see his face. "Depends on what the something is," she replied softly, her lips briefly upturned in a small, apologetic smile.

Jack nodded. "Fair enough." He sighed and laid his head back against the arm of the couch. His eyes fixed inches over her head, he murmured, "Promise me...that if this--" He broke off and looked back down at her, lightly tapping his finger against her temple as he repeated the word, "this...gets to be too much too handle...that you'll--you'll tell me." He stared at her pleadingly as she absorbed his words, her brow creasing incrementally before her face broke in sudden understanding.

"You dreamt I killed myself."

It was a statement, he realized, not a question. Unable to look at her any longer, he laid his head back against the armrest and tightly pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not move when she slowly inched her way up his body, his eyes steadfastly remaining closed lest he catch the betrayal that he imagined lingered hotly in her gaze. Her lips pressed softly against the back of his hand and he felt the light tickle of her hair brushing the sides of his arm.

"Hey," she whispered, grasping his wrist and tugging it away from his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes to her, his face gradually losing the weight of his consternation as he saw the light mist that clouded her irises. Lovingly tracing the roughened line of his jaw with a single, gentle finger, she hoarsely whispered, "I promise," before wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck and lowering her mouth to his. As he quickly realized the import of her assurance, he buried his fingers in her hair and ardently, thankfully returned her kiss, allowing his mouth and hands to communicate all that he could not say.

------------------------------------------------------------

The smell of fresh coffee and the faint trickling of the morning sun across his face roused Jack to semi-consciousness the next morning. A smile crept gradually over his lips as the rich, herbal scent of Sam's shampoo wafted across his nostrils and the pressure of her body pressed tightly against his side registered in his sleep-dulled mind. Opening his eyes a fraction of an inch, he looked down at her, sandwiched between himself and the back of the couch, and noted that she had draped a blanket over them at some point during the night and had since sequestered most of it. Her head rested on the slight slope between his neck and shoulder--nicely placed for a light good-morning kiss to her tousled hair; her arm was draped across his chest, her delicate fingers wrapping loosely around his neck; and her right leg was wrapped entirely around his. Vaguely he realized that he had lost feeling in his right arm due to the placement of her head, but, as comfortable and satisfied with his position as he was, he could not bring himself to care.

As emotionally turbid as last night had been, it had ended on a much grander note than he could have anticipated--he had made out with Sam Carter on the couch at his cabin. Just the thought widened his smile into a full-fledged grin. God, had they made out... While they had not gone very far, per se, she had allowed him to turn her onto her back, stretch his body gently over hers, and very thoroughly explore the tender flesh of her neck and jaw. He had also tried to nibble her earlobe, but as soon as his lips had touched her skin, she had immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles; apparently his unshaven face was "tickly." In all his years he had been called many things , he told her, but tickly' was not one of them. He was overjoyed that he could now add it to the list.

When he remembered that he had also attempted to caress her bare stomach, their movement having caused the fabric of her sweatshirt to gather just at the ridge of her hipbones, his grin softened. She had gasped and stiffened at the unexpected contact, but only slightly; and instead of drawing an abrupt halt to their intimacy, she had grasped his wrist and softly uttered, "Not yet," before pulling his mouth back to hers for a long, insanely passionate kiss. God, he loved her.

Absently, he ran his fingertips along the forearm stretched across his chest, following the valleys and peaks of the bunched material with a feather-light caress. She shivered suddenly, her head shifting against him as he heard her mumble, "You're being tickly again." Chuckling, he stopped his movement over her arm to press her head tenderly to his chest. As her body rode the undulations of his laughter, she grumbled, "Now you're being earthquakey," before shifting her jaw into his palm and placing a kiss to the calloused skin.

Smiling, he muttered, "You know you're adorable in the morning?"

Her reply was muffled against his chest, but only served to strengthen his opinion. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

She lifted her head to look at him, her brow creased in mock agitation. "Am. Not."

He grinned. "Are too."

"Dee two," she said, smiling triumphantly.

Jack chuckled at her unexpected reply and leaned forward to tenderly kiss her forehead. "See?" he said. "You've just proven my point. Samantha Carter has an acute case of morning adorableness."

"Hmm," she murmured, grasping his shoulders and slowly working her way towards him. "Hope it's not contagious."

Jack frowned thoughtfully and adjusted his position as she gradually drew closer. "I don't think so," he murmured, her lips mere centimeters from his. "But I do think that overexposure by certain outside parties could have lasting repercus--" Before he could finish his thought, she had captured his mouth for a languid good morning kiss--languid, this is, until they heard dishes clinking and the sound of hushed conversation emanating from the kitchen.

"Sounds like the troops are up," Jack muttered, his hand dropping from its place on her cheek.

"Yeah," she sighed. Looking at him askance, she muttered, "I would rather my father not see me like this."

"Well, apparently Daniel and Janet spent four hours last night convincing him that this," he flapped his hand slightly at the two of them, "is a good thing."

"Only four?" she whispered incredulously. "Did he believe them?"

His eyebrows arched; quickly he answered her question before offering one of his own. "Uh, I dunno. Daniel never really said. And what do you mean only four'?"

She smiled wryly, resting her cheek against her hand and settling against his chest, her eyes focused just to the left of his jaw. "It usually takes him a good three months to get used to the idea that I'm in a relationship. With anyone."

He smiled gently and combed her mussed hair away from her forehead. "You're his little girl; he's going to be protective."

Nodding as her jaw stretched to accommodate a massive yawn, she rested her temple against her palm to look down at him. "I know," she said softly, her dry smile returning. "I'm used to that. Just so long as you know that he's being paternal, not personal."

Jack grinned and brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone. "I'll keep it in mind." Watching her as she nodded, her eyes drooping slightly as she yawned again and rested her forehead against his chest, he smiled inwardly. Her mussed hair, her sleepy slur, her brilliant mind marvelously lax and dulled by the remaining whispers of slumber, and her wit that was as endearing as his was acerbic... He tenderly caught her chin in his hand and directed her gaze up to meet his. "I love you," he whispered, eyes smiling and bursting with the emotion.

She smiled up at him. "I love you back." Giggling then as his stomach grumbled loudly, she said, "Maybe we should go take care of that."

Jack winced and gingerly rubbed his abdomen. "Yeah. Good idea." He paused as he surveyed their position. "But you're gonna have to get up first cause I can't move...at all, really."

Smiling softly as she threw off the blanket and grasped the armrest over his head, she pushed herself off of Jack's body, his hands alighting softly on her hips to help her balance, and stood beside him. Gasping, she clutched the couch tightly and closed her eyes, her body feinting gradually from side to side.

Immediately grabbing her waist to steady her, he sat up quickly, not at all surprised when she plopped down into his lap several seconds later. "Lightheaded again?"

Silently nodding, she slowly massaged her temples, her brain suddenly reeling and pounding loudly within her skull. Taking several deep breaths in an attempt to stabilize herself, she heard Jack whisper, "Do want me to get Janet?"

"No," she answered vehemently, panic lacing her tone as she recalled the events following her last clinical encounter with her friend. More calmly she added, "I'll be fine. I just need to eat something."

Behind her, Jack's face lit up exponentially at the admittance and he barely resisted the urge to sweep her into a bone-crushing hug. Aloud he merely muttered, "Good thing it's breakfast time. Maybe they've left us some of whatever it is in there that smells so damn good." Spotting her as she slowly rose from his lap, he followed at her nod, her elbow grasped firmly in his hand as they slowly traversed the living room and entered the kitchen.

"Most of the Tok'ra missions are even more classified than the SGC itself," Jacob was telling Daniel, who was listening with rapt attention while watching the older man expertly attend to the steaming frying pan on the stove.

"I thought I smelled your French toast," Sam said, smiling, as she stiffly walked over to her dad's side.

"Hey!" Jacob greeted her, his face lighting up as he turned to gently embrace her, and left one arm loosely around her waist as he carefully flipped the toast in the pan. "I was wondering if you two were planning on getting up today." Smiling shyly as he grinned at her, Sam planted a kiss on his cheek before disengaging from his embrace to rummage through a cupboard.

Handing her a cup of coffee laden with her preferred measure of sugar and cream, Jack asked, "Watcha lookin' for?"

"Ibuprofen," she answered, immediately finding the bottle. Before she could remove the top, Jacob cleared his throat. The sound's intent ground into her from early childhood, Sam instantly looked up at him, her eyes wide and attentive.

"I don't know if she wants to talk to you first, or what," he told her, flipping the thick, sandwich-like piece of French toast onto a plate, dusting it with powdered sugar, and handing it to Jack, who hesitantly accepted the offer with a curiously arched eyebrow. "But last night Janet took the liberty of picking up a few prescriptions for you," he continued, nodding to the non-descript white bag resting next to the open breadbox on the counter. "I seem to remember her saying something about pain-killers and anti-inflammatory medication or something."

Sam's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise as she eyed the white bag. After placing the bottle back in the cupboard, she perused Janet's selections with a mixture of curiosity and dread. Jacob glanced sympathetically at his daughter. She despised taking pills, always had and probably always would. Frowning slightly, he turned back to the mission at hand--Operation: Dad's French Toast--but not before wryly smiling at Jack who was still curiously inspecting his breakfast.

"You eat it," Jacob told him. "Pour syrup on it and dig in."

"It's a sandwich."

"Very astute," Jacob observed as he turned back to his production line and quickly dropped a small glob of a white and red concoction in the middle of a piece of bread, slapped another slice over it, drowned the whole thing in an aromatic, wonderfully-spicy egg mixture and then laid it carefully in the frying pan.

"It's okay, honey," Sam muttered as she looked up briefly from the prescription information sheets and placed a light hand on Jack's arm. Offering him a reassuring smile, she said, "Don't worry, you'll like it."

Raising a wary eyebrow, he peered at her cautiously. "That's what my grandmother told me about Brussels sprouts."

She chuckled and plucked a fork from the drawer beside her. Pulling him towards her, she reached the fork towards the plate he held securely in his hands, cut off a small square of the sandwich, impaled it, and then popped it into her mouth, withdrawing the fork with slow and delighted relish. "Mmm..." she groaned, savoring the heavenly taste of cinnamon, strawberries, and sweetened whipping cream. "Dad, you still got it. This is delicious."

He smiled proudly and winked at her. "Thanks, honey."

Still chewing, Sam hacked off another square of the toast and offered it this time to Jack's mouth. When they remained steadfastly closed, she gently nudged the offering against his lips, a smile slowly breeching her face as powdered sugar clung to the whiskers that roughened the surrounding skin. Adorably pursing her lips as she contemplated his stubborn refusal of the proffered food, she sighed, her eyes twinkling, and muttered very softly, lest the others hear, "You didn't have any problem opening up last night." He grinned at her, but still did not accept the waiting morsel.

Suddenly Jacob tapped Jack's arm with the back of his hand and said matter-of-factly, "You don't try my food, I don't let you kiss my daughter. Simple as that."

And immediately the square of French toast vanished and Jack was enthusiastically chewing. His eyes slowly widened as his taste buds registered the delicate, yet harmonious blend of the flavors and silently begged for more. "Wow," he enthused, "this is amazing!" Pointing to the fork perched in Sam's fingers, he politely asked, "Could I have that?" Smiling, she handed him the utensil and affectionately watched him amble back to the table while muttering the glories of the new-found food.

Chuckling softly, Jacob handed a laden plate to Sam. She smiled her gratitude and setting her breakfast on the counter as she turned to uncap one of the bottles, pull out the cotton, and tap a large white pill into the palm of her hand.

"What's that?" Jacob asked.

She picked up the bottle and scrutinized the label. "Ibuprofen," she answered. "800 milligrams."

Jacob lifted his eyebrows in appreciation. "Wow," he breathed. "That'll take care of what ails ya."

She smiled softly. "I certainly hope so," she murmured and picked up her plate and coffee to join the others at the table. He watched her retreat, her stiff, hesitant movement striking a profound measure of sorrow into his depths. She was still his strong, brave, beautiful little girl, but there was more now, an infinite melancholy, an inescapable sadness that permeated the air around her. Imperceptibly narrowing his eyes, he renewed his resolve that he would help her defeat this new, machinating enemy, whatever the cost, whatever her need. The high council could object all they wanted to; he was staying as long as she had want or need of him. He smiled in gratitude as Selmak agreed with his resolutions and promised to clear his stay should the want or need arise. There were perks to being the oldest and wisest of the Tok'ra.

"Hey, Dad," Jack called. "Got anymore of this...French toast stuffed sandwich stuff?"

Jacob lazily shook himself back into time and turned back to his production line. "So you like it now, huh? I think you're just scared I won't let you kiss my daughter again." His smile broadened to a loving grin as Sam's laughter pealed merrily throughout the kitchen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fully aware that her eating habits were now under the surreptitious scrutiny of three hawk-eyed individuals, Sam made a great effort to eat as much as she could, which was still pathetically little, whenever meal time rolled around. She had managed to eat half of her breakfast that morning, more than she had eaten at the meal since 275; still, she knew that her father, in all of his paternal wisdom, would find the amount of her leftovers disconcerting. Her assumption was proven correct as she helped him clean up after everyone had finished eating.

Handing her a newly washed plate to dry, he told her, "Ya know, for not having lost my touch, you left an awful lot on your plate. You used to be able to eat three pieces no problem."

His words were meant as a vote of concern and intended with the utmost love she knew, but still she could not help the immediate defensiveness that leapt to her throat. "I ate as much as I could," she answered, inwardly cringing at her unintended severity.

Jacob was silent as he contemplatively scrubbed the frying pan. "I'm just worried about you," he murmured after awhile. "I mean, I didn't recognize you when I first saw you...you've..."

"Lost a lot of weight," she sighed, accepting the frying pan and drying it quickly before walking it over to its place below the stove. "I didn't do it on purpose," she assured him quietly when she had returned to the sink. "I didn't even notice, really." When he did not respond, her heart dropped several notches as she imagined his profound disappointment and she felt tears slowly gather in the back of her throat. "I am trying, Dad," she whispered, her voice catching. "It's just...hard..."

"Oh, Sam," he sighed, immediately attuned to his daughter's distress and dropped the plate he held into the sudsy water in order to pull her into a comforting, warm embrace. "I know, honey," he soothed, running his hand tenderly across her back. "I know you're trying, Sammie, I can see you trying." He pulled away from her to look lovingly into her teary eyes and grasped the sides of her face with both hands. "And you know what?" he asked, his voice hushed and kind. "I am so very, very proud of you, baby." Drawing her back to his arms as he watched her tears well up and spill shamelessly down her cheeks, he placed a gentle kiss to her temple and murmured, "So proud of you, Sammie, my brave, beautiful little girl."

His own eyes misting as he continued to hold her as she cried, his heart swelled as her arms wound around his back and she whispered, "I love you, Daddy."

Recalling their ritual from her early childhood and the precious few times he had been able to tuck her in at night, he returned, "I love you bigger," choking on the words as his throat constricted and small tears fell softly from his eyelashes.

"Always?"

Pulling her tighter, he pressed a loving kiss to the side of her head, his tears dampening her sleep-mussed strands, and cradled the nape of her neck with a gentle hand. "Forever," he breathed.

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Note: Sorry for the posting delay. I had to drive across the country (1680 miles!), and decided to do so in 27 hours. There's little wireless access along 94W/90W. Also, thank you for your sublime words of encouragement! I wrote this story about a year and a half ago, but never posted it because I thought it might be a bit too in-yer-face and...well, real to actually be received well. Thank you all very, very much; I'm thrilled that you're following and reading AIE.


	5. Reintegration

* * *

Alea Iacta Est

Part IV:

Reintegration

* * *

_Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one._

_Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be reintegrated into the whole._

* * *

"Ah, Jack? You sure you know where you're going?" 

Abruptly Jack stopped, his legs straddling a young windfall. "Danny, I lead you on missions to unknown planets and you don't trust me to lead you on a little hike through northern Minnesota?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," Daniel began, "it's just that you seem more preoccupied with Sam than you do with the trail."

The exasperation that had bled into Jack's features at the man's question drained as he realized not only the validity of Daniel's observation, but the obvious transparency of his own internal debate. That being the case, denial would be futile. "It's that apparent, huh?"

"Well," Daniel drawled, "...yeah."

Jack sighed and lowered himself to the ground, patting the forest floor beside him as an invitation to his companion.

"Wow," Daniel muttered as he plopped down beside him. "Jack O'Neill willingly talking. Never thought I'd live to see the day..."

"Yeah, well, keep that up and you'll have to live a few more."

"Sorry."

Jack plucked a small plant from the earth beside him and began to systematically strip it of its leaves all the while racking his brain for an appropriate lead-in for this particular conversation. After he had thoroughly decimated the foliage, he opted for honesty.

"I'm worried about her." He was silent for awhile before adding, "And I hate leaving her, but I just...I dunno." He sighed and threw the remaining scrap of stem deep into the undergrowth.

"You needed a break."

"Yeah," Jack agreed quietly, feeling slightly shamed at the admission. "Is that wrong?"

Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so. You can't take care of her all of the time."

"Yeah, but she refuses to take care of herself," he muttered. "Someone's gotta do it."

Daniel sighed inwardly, silently relieved at his friend's statement. Jack was not as blinded by his affection for Sam as he had thought. Aloud he asked, "What do you mean, refuses to take care of herself?'"

"You've seen how much she eats," he said, absently playing with a cluster of dead pine needles. "She doesn't shower unless I'm there, which, ya know, I don't mind, but..." he shook his head. "...but it's not right. Not that anything about this situation is right," he added quickly, cringing at his verbal clumsiness. "I expected more of a...reaction, I guess, after yesterday. She remembered what happened, and that's great, well, not great, but--"

"I gotcha."

Jack nodded. "Right. But today I guess I just expected more..._something_. More of last night. More tears, more memories, more..." He trailed off and ended the sentence on a sigh. "But it's like yesterday never happened. Like even though she remembers and she knows and she knows she has to know, she still wants to forget."

Daniel looked at him. "Can you blame her?"

"Hell, no!" Jack exclaimed. "Shit, Danny, I want to forget it happened...but that's one more thing that wouldn't be right." He paused, his gaze fixed on the distant tree line. "She says she'll tell me if things get too bad, but..."

"You don't know if you believe her."

"I don't know if I can," he muttered. "Every time I hold her I'm scared I'm gonna break her in half." Sighing, he began snapping pine needles and piling them by his feet. "And if I bring it up, she either dismisses it or turns into psycho-uber-bitch..."

"Wow," Daniel uttered, his eyes widening. "I didn't know Sam had it in her to be a psycho-uber-bitch."

Jack shot him a half-hearted smile. "You'd be surprised." He remained silent for awhile and absently organized his sizable pile of pine needle halves. "Last night I dreamt she shot herself," he murmured, his voice distant. "And even though she promised me...I can't help but think..." He trailed off, lost in the machinations of his own mind. She was so fragile, so tiny, and so blissfully unaware. In that short span of silent moments, he recounted every embrace, every gentle kiss and could feel her body slowly slipping away from in between his fingers like beach sand. Quietly, he continued, "She doesn't need a gun, or anything else for that matter, if she's set on leaving; but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let her get away with that." A deep sigh wrenched itself out of his throat and his hands fell limply from his wrists. "I just don't know what I can do about it."

--------------------------------

"Mind if I join you?"

Sam looked up from the pages of the old mystery novel she had rescued from Jack's overstuffed bookshelf. Janet was standing a few feet away, her arms laden with medical journals. "No," she answered. "Not at all." Raising her eyebrow at her friend's material, she added, "Catching up on some light reading?"

Janet grinned. "Hey, I actually enjoy this stuff."

Sam smiled wryly at the doctor and went back to her book. Unconsciously she shifted in her seat and protectively pulled her knees to her chest, her open book settling between her upraised thighs.

Janet noted the change in her demeanor immediately and sighed as she perched on the edge of the couch. "Sam, I'm sorry about yesterday."

Her eyes never straying from their course along the lines of text, she answered, "There's nothing to be sorry about. You were doing your job."

"No." The vehemence in Janet's voice shocked Sam into looking up from the yellowed pages. "If I had really been doing my job," the doctor continued, her tone softer, increased in understanding. "I would have realized that you weren't ready for the exam."

"Janet, it's all--"

"No, Sam, it's not all right." Janet's eyes wavered slightly as she sighed. "You weren't ready and I knew it, but I went ahead anyway."

Sam slammed the book down beside her. "Dammit, Janet, I told you to do the stupid thing. You were acting in accordance with your patient's wishes, now stop beating yourself up about it."

"It's not that simple, Sam, and you know it."

Sam sighed tiredly and rested her head against the back of the couch. "Well, then, apparently I've forgotten, so you're going to have to remind me."

"You've...suffered a severe trauma. For all practical purposes, you shouldn't even be alive right now." Janet sighed as Sam's jaw tightened and the woman's eyes glazed over as she stared blankly ahead. "Your...reasoning is impacted, your judgment is impaired--Sam, I should have held off--"

Sam cut her off with a frustrated cry and sat up, her eyes flashing venomously. "My reasoning and judgment are fine, Janet. And contrary to popular belief, I am fine."

"Then why've you lost almost forty pounds in five weeks?"

"I haven't--"

"Yes, Sam," Janet said gently. "You have. Thirteen while you were on the planet and twenty-five since then. And the fact that you're not aware of it proves to me that you are undoubtedly not fine.'"

_How dare she..._ Sam felt her remaining muscles clench painfully in an effort to stave off a wave of infuriated tremors. Unable to speak for her anger, she merely glared at her friend and quickly rose from the couch, intent on locking herself in her bedroom, safely away from the galling concern and probing questions that she had come to so despise. But as she crossed the threshold of the hallway, she felt her limbs grow cold and numb as her head swirled with the rapidly fading image of the darkened hall. She was falling and suffocating and suddenly terrified. Her anger gone, she heard herself weakly utter Janet's name before the world pitched her to her knees and all grew dark and silent.

Janet sighed heavily as she watched Sam angrily leap off of the couch and stomp down the hall. She was at the peak of her stubbornness and, frankly, Janet was getting sick of it. Right now every medical fiber of the doctor's training was exhorting her to hook the woman up to an I.V. for the remainder of their stay, sedating her if necessary. Her medical journals forgotten, she began contemplating that line of action and was on the brink of resolving to tell Jack about it when the sounds of Sam gasping her name followed by a body falling limply to the floor jolted her out of her ruminations.

"Sam!" Janet was off the couch and across the room in seconds, her fingers instinctively latching on to the pulse that beat faintly against the woman's throat. Her skilled hands quickly searched Sam's head and neck for injury and, finding none, silently breathed a sigh of relief before calling loudly for Jacob.

Several moments later the door behind her opened and the man's rumpled form emerged, his eyes still bleary from sleep, but clearing immediately when he saw his daughter's fallen body. "Sam..." Stooping down beside the doctor, his eyes wide, he asked, "What happened?"

"She passed out. She probably got up too quickly for her brain to adjust."

"She fainted?" He regarded the doctor skeptically. "She's never fainted. Not once."

"Yeah, well," the doctor muttered, drawing a deep breath. "I doubt she's ever been this severely undernourished either." Jacob silently conceded Janet's observation as she rose. "Stay with her," she ordered. "If she wakes up, tell her to stay put."

"Where are you going?"

Janet's mouth thinned as she called over her shoulder. "To do something I should've done when we first got here--set up an I.V."

As he heard Janet descend the porch steps and the gravel crunch beneath her feet as she hurried out to the car, Jacob turned back to gaze solemnly down at his daughter. Tenderly clearing the mussed strands from her face, he whispered, "...hang in there, honey...just keep...hanging in there."

Janet returned several minutes later, I.V. and a small case in hand and brushed quickly past him, disappearing into Jack and Sam's bedroom while calling curtly over her shoulder, "Bring her in here."

Jacob frowned. "Shouldn't we wait until she wakes up to move her?"

Janet's head appeared from around the corner, her eyebrow arched and a scowl set deeply across her face. Her eyes leaping with indignation, she said, "Let me be the doctor, all right?" Jacob swallowed harshly, quite nervous in the face of Janet's imminent wrath, and nodded before scooping his daughter into his arms. Wincing as her ribs dug into his chest, he realized just how emaciated she had become and strode into the bedroom, suddenly eager to get her hooked up to the machine. Janet had turned down the blankets on one side of the mattress and helped him cover her as he gently eased Sam's unconscious body in between the sheets. Quickly backing out of the doctor's way, he watched silently as she activated a vital monitor and deftly encased Sam's finger in the receiver before sanitizing the back of his daughter's hand and inserting and securing the I.V.

"There," she sighed, obviously satisfied as she watched the fluid ease itself into Sam's body. "Let's just hope she stays out for awhile."

"Excuse me?" Jacob asked, his eyebrow arching as his incredulousness gained greater ground. "Wouldn't it be better if she snapped out of this sooner rather than later?"

Janet nodded. "Theoretically. But she's not going to be too happy when she realizes she's hooked up. She seems to think she's fine, which isn't unusual for her. Her stubbornness has been proving its true colors of late."

Jacob mulled over the doctor's observations and accepted her case. "Tell ya what," he said eventually. "You leave her to me. Go do whatever it is you were doing before all this happened--I'll tell ya if anything beeps or blips or whatnot--and I'll take care of the explanation when she wakes up. She'll agree more easily hearing it from her old man."

Janet nodded and smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks, sir. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he said. "And stop all this sir' business. We're supposedly on vacation. Call me Jacob. Hell, you can even call me Dad.' Lord knows everyone else does."

Her smile broadening, Janet laughed softly. "All right." As she cast one last look over her shoulder at Sam's gaunt form, she added, "I'll be in the living room if you need me. And let me know when she's awake and...and calm."

Jacob nodded. "Will do." He heard Janet trail softly out of the room before turning back towards his daughter. He hated seeing her hooked up to these damned machines, but he also reluctantly admitted their necessity in keeping her stable. Her little fainting spell had just proven that rather efficiently. No, he thought, she's not fine. No matter what he or anyone else would like to believe, his brave, beautiful Samantha was worlds away from fine.'

-----------------------------------------------------

Jack and Daniel cleared the tree line and headed briskly towards the cabin, both exhausted from their jaunt, but eagerly anticipating that first draft of air conditioning followed by the crisp refreshment of an ice cold beer. Jack's spirits had increased substantially over the course of their conversation and discovering that Daniel was as clueless as he was had only served to heighten his mood. Oddly enough, it was a comfort knowing that he was not alone in his ignorance.

As they trod tiredly into the cabin, Jack's eyes fell blissfully shut and he splayed his arms out to the sides. Reveling in the blessed coolness of the room, he muttered, "God bless Freon..." before stooping to remove his boots.

"The weary travelers return."

Jack looked up from his bootlaces and nodded curtly to Janet. "The perimeter has been secured, ma'am."

Janet smiled tiredly. "Hope you kept the fatalities to a minimum, gentlemen."

"Well," Daniel answered as he set his boots on the rack. "Jack did dismember a part of the local flora."

"Hey, the little stinker had it coming. Did you see the way he was looking at me?" Jack padded towards the kitchen and immediately noticed Sam's absence. "Sam sleeping?" he called over the door of the refrigerator as he pulled out two bottles of beer. He made a mental note to change his socks A.S.A.P. as he walked back to the living room. The hike had had a decidedly negative effect on his feet.

"Well," Janet said slowly. "You might say that."

Handing one of the bottles over the back of the couch to Daniel who had taken the opportunity to slump against its cushions, Jack frowned, his concern immediately piqued when he registered Janet's hesitant tone. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

"She's in the bedroom. Jacob's with her." Sighing, she added, "She passed out about a half hour ago."

The perimeter of Jack's eyes nearly doubled as he sputtered, "W-what!"

"She's all right, Jack. She woke up very briefly about ten minutes ago and she's sleeping now."

But Jack had not heard her. He had dropped his beer on the seat of a living room chair and was hastily making his way back to their bedroom. "Oh god..." he muttered at the sight of her again hooked up to medical monitors. "Sammie..."

"Not quite the welcome you were expecting, huh?" Jacob was sitting in a chair by his daughter's bedside, his elbows perched on his knees as he glanced from Jack to Sam.

"No," Jack muttered as he slumped onto the edge of the bed. "What happened?"

Jacob sighed. "Janet thinks that she just got up too fast for her brain to keep tabs on itself."

"Yeah, she's been doing that lately. Getting lightheaded and dizzy. Normally it's just in the mornings, though."

Jacob looked at him sharply. "You knew about this? Did you tell Janet?"

Jack shook his head. "She didn't want me to."

"Jack," the older man said, his voice dangerously low, but Jack abruptly clipped the impending diatribe with an impatient wave of his hand.

Rising from the bed, he jammed his hands into his pockets and proceeded to pace slowly around the room. "I know, I know. I should've told the doc. No preaching, all right?" He paused momentarily, both in speech and movement before quietly adding, "but she's been through so much that she didn't want to happen, I wanted to..." He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. But he had no need to. Jacob's face immediately washed of its severity and softened as the man his daughter loved gazed down at her still form wistfully, his eyes troubled and haunted with the ghosts of everything he could not do--could not have done--to help her. "I would never knowingly hurt her, Jacob."

"I know," he answered, believing the man's sentiment for the first time. "I know you wouldn't. And I know watching her...fade is killing you as much as it's killing me. Maybe even more."

Jack shook his head. "Not more," he said. "Just differently. I know how this father-kid thing works."

Jacob looked down at his hands and absently picked at the skin around his nails. His son. How could he have forgotten? Jack had lost his son. Years ago, yes, but from the death of his wife, Jacob knew that the pain never left. It eased in its severity, it became easier to live with, but it never fully dissipated. His eyes closed painfully as he remembered the words of the officer on the scene and how he had used his position both as her husband and as a military officer to gain access to the wreck; he remembered the unnatural pallor of his wife's skin as she lay silently dying while the EMT's had worked so desperately to resuscitate her; and he remembered the spiraling unreality that had gripped him as they pronounced her dead and loaded her lifeless body into the back of the waiting ambulance. That image fixed in his mind, he whispered, "And I know what it's like watching the woman you love die."

Their eyes met then for a very brief moment, but in that moment all of the residual tension between them ebbed and faded into insignificance. Placated by their mutual understanding, Jack eased himself onto the bed and sat next to Sam, his back leaning heavily against the headboard. Placing his hand lightly on her head, he stroked the cold skin of her brow with his thumb, hoping silently that a modicum of her disquiet would be eased by the contact. He smiled as she shifted into his caress and turned her head towards him, her eyes still closed and her breathing still regular.

"She loves you, you know," Jacob told him.

Jack nodded, a small, wry smile tickling his lips. "I know," he replied. "It's the why' part I don't get."

Jacob chuckled ruefully. "Ain't that always the case?"

Their conversation faded in and out through the entirety of Sam's sleep, but the silences no longer seemed ominous and the scattered bits of speech no longer appeared forced. When Sam awoke an hour later, they were in the depths of a whispered discussion, the like of which her exhausted mind could not decipher. She did not open her eyes, but moaned softly as she regained consciousness. God, did her head hurt...

"Hey," Jack said, his voice soft and near and very reassuring. "There you are."

Deciding that full-fledged speech would reverberate too loudly in her skull, she uttered a low, affirmative groan that garnered a concerned response from her father.

"Your headache back, honey?" Conserving her movement as much as possible, she nodded and then heard her father say, "I'll go get Janet."

She heard her father retreat out of the door as Jack shifted somewhat on the bed, his warmth suddenly beside her, holding her while his arms could not. As his hand alighted feather-soft on her head, she heard him mutter, "Heard you blacked out for awhile there." She did not respond, but instead reached weakly towards him, needing to feel part of his body against her skin. His hand filled hers, their fingers interlacing in the way he knew she found most comfortable; only then did she relax completely and did not even stiffen as she heard Jacob and Janet reenter the room.

"Hey there, Sam," Janet said as she walked up to the bedside, the soft tapping of her knuckle against the barrel of a syringe causing Sam to frown in protest. "It's not a sedative, I swear," the doctor assured her. "It's something to take care of your headache."

"Last time you said that," Sam mumbled, wincing as her words tumbled loudly through her brain, "I passed out."

"That's called exhaustion, honey," Janet replied smoothly. "Something you have quite a bit of, I'm assuming." When Sam did not respond, the doctor sighed inwardly. "I know I'm not your favorite person, Sam, but indulge me, all right? I just want to make you more comfortable."

Silently questioning Jack, she administered the drug at his nod, disposed of the materials, and then plucked a pen light from off of the bedside table. "Sam, I need you to open your eyes so I can check for any changes." As soon as the words left her mouth, the doctor cringed, causing a small chortle to escape Jacob's throat that he quickly covered with a low, strangled cough. When Janet turned to cast him a withering glance, he winked at her reassuringly, silently urging her to continue her clinical evaluation.

Sam, on the other hand, groaned and turned her face towards Jack, physically disallowing the doctor's required examination. "Sam," Jack said, the reproach palpable in his tone. "Let Janet do her job. She's only trying to help you." Sam said nothing, but he noted that the tension gradually seeped out of her muscles and her eyes opened to slits as a signal of her reluctant submission.

Smiling gratefully at the colonel as he gently eased her patient's head to an approachable angle, Janet murmured, "It's gonna get a bit bright for a second, all right? Look over my shoulder at your dad." Janet gently lifted Sam's upper eyelid a fraction of an inch more in order to thoroughly examine the woman's iris and briefly flicked the light on. Sam stiffened, a pained moan escaping her lips as the ache in her head momentarily flared. "Just once more," Janet soothed as she turned her attention to Sam's other eye. And then the brilliant infiltration was over and Sam, still wincing from the onslaught, was rubbing her eyes wearily before being overtaken by an enormous yawn.

"Go back to sleep," Jack whispered, his fingers absently combing through her tousled hair. "You've only been out for an hour and a half."

But Sam shook her head and opened her eyes again to look up at him. "I don't want to sleep anymore," she mumbled, repressing another yawn. Before Jacob could open his mouth to object to Sam's protest, Jack silenced him with a pointed look as he moved to lay next to her.

"All right," Jack agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she shifted carefully into his arms. "You don't have to sleep, but we're going to stay here for awhile, k? Just until Janet's pumped you full of...whatever it is she's pumping you full of." Sam nodded weakly, her eyes drifting shut as Jack continued to comb his fingers lazily through her hair. "You wanna hear about the joke I pulled on Daniel today?" A tired smile flitted across her lips as she nodded again and shifted closer to his warmth.

Jacob smiled as Jack began his story and his daughter drifted further and further into unconsciousness as she lay securely wrapped in his arms. Tossing a grin to Janet, he cocked his head towards the door and exited, the doctor in tow, leaving Jack to soothe Sam back into the peaceful tides of sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Daniel looked up from his book as Jacob and Janet entered the living room. "How is she?"

"Oh," Jacob said as he lowered himself onto the couch. "She'll be out again in a minute or two."

"I'm assuming Jack's with her."

Jacob nodded, smiling affectionately. "Yep, and he picked up quick on her one real weakness."

"What's that?" Daniel

"Well," Jacob began, "Sam hated going to bed when she was a kid so Anne and I got into the habit of telling her that she could stay awake as long as she was in bed reading. Ten or so minutes later, one of us would go up and snuggle with her while we read her a book and ran our fingers through her hair. She'd be out before we even got to the middle of the story."

"Ah," Daniel said. "What story is he telling her?"

"He's telling her about some joke he played on you today," Janet intoned, smiling at the blush that began to creep up Daniel's neck. "Care to share?"

"Um...no," he told her. "I think that's one that can stay between Jack, Sam, and myself." Quickly changing the topic lest he be subjected to the rigors of peer pressure, he asked, "How is she mentally? Any idea?"

"Well, she had a really good impression of a two-year-old going for awhile," Janet sighed. "Other than that, not really. She hasn't said much to me, though. After yesterday, I don't blame her. I'd avoid me, too, if I were her."

Daniel frowned. "That wasn't your fault, Janet. You were only doing your job."

"Yeah, that's what Sam said. But that was before I put her on the I.V. She's mad as hell at me now."

"She didn't know she was being hooked up?" As he watched Janet shake her head, his lips formed a perfect o' of understanding. "I see..." Silence fell upon them for awhile before he asked, "So I take it that you're both as concerned for her as Jack and I."

Jacob grunted. "Yeah. Is that what you talked about out there?"

"Pretty much," he sighed. "Jack told me in a round-about-Jack sort of way that he thinks she wants to leave,' to use his exact terminology, but that she isn't aware of that particular desire, at least, not on a conscious level." Turning to them both in turn, he said, "I thought he might not be far off. What about you?"

Janet nodded slowly. "Working solely off of observation of her behavior, I would say that's as good an explanation as any. She doesn't even seem to be aware that her weight loss is even happening let alone as severe as it's become. She refuses to listen when I bring it up."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, Jack said the same thing." Raising a sympathetic eyebrow at Jacob, who appeared to have disengaged himself from the conversation, he continued, "It doesn't seem like Sam to go about it in this manner, though."

"No, it doesn't," Jacob sighed, obviously not as disengaged as he seemed. "But it's not the first time she's done this." He could feel the incredulity index of the room jump several notches as he continued, "She did the same thing when her mom died. Didn't eat for days. I figured she was too devastated to keep anything down. After about a week or so she started eating again. I never mentioned it to her." Tiredly rubbing his hands across his face, he added, "It never got this severe, though. But as hellish as Anne's death was, I'm guessing this is several hundred times worse."

After a moment, he rose from the couch and walked over to the picture window on the opposite side of the room. Staring out into the brilliance of the landscape washed by the mid-afternoon sun, he muttered, "I'll be damned if I'm going to let those bastards kill my little girl. I don't care if we have to sedate her and feed her intravenously to keep her alive."

"Uh, problem," Daniel intoned. "We'd need her permission before we even attempted anything like that."

"No," Janet said quickly, her brow creased in a string of rapid thought. "Jack could okay it if came down to that. He has provisional medical clearance. We wouldn't even have to declare her mentally unfit."

Daniel frowned. "Provisional medical clearance?"

"Provisional medical supervision, actually. It's normally only invoked in special cases, usually involving prisoners of war or victims of war crimes," Janet explained. "I know the General had to pull a few strings in order for them to approve her release into his custody. It allows for the patient to be taken into the personal care of a loved one or family member on the condition that the supervisor then incurs all responsibility of the patient including the administration or abstention of all medical procedures. Now, I know that Jack didn't intend to order treatment for Sam beyond what she wanted or was required to have done, but I don't think he'd have a problem with approving a means to save her life."

"No," Daniel answered, his frown deepening as he drew out the word. After a moment he said, "Before we resort to that...let me try something."

Jacob turned towards him, his curiosity piqued. "What are you thinking?"

Daniel rose from the couch and headed towards the entry. Pulling his sandals on, he muttered, "I'm not...sure yet." He grasped the handle of the door and added, "I'm going to go walk. I'll be back...later."

Jacob watched as the door closed softly behind Daniel and then quipped, "And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the enigma also known as Doctor Daniel Jackson." Smiling ruefully as Janet chuckled, he added, "I'm gonna grab a beer. Want one?"

Janet raised her eyebrow. "I thought the Tok'Ra couldn't drink."

"Oh, no," Jacob called from within the depths of the refrigerator. "The Tok'Ra choose not to drink in order to keep the strain on the symbiote to a minimum. Selmak's already assured me that she doesn't mind--in fact, she's the one who suggested it."

"Oh," Janet said, her surprise apparent. Recovering quickly, she said, "Yeah, then by all means. Grab me one, too." As Jacob pressed the blessedly cold bottle into her palm, she muttered, "Something stronger than 5.2 would be preferable, but I'll take what I can get."

Jacob grinned and twisted off the bottle cap. "Cheers."

* * *

Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one.

Should two only be present, formulate a means by which

the remainder

may be reintegrated into the whole.

* * *

Jack woke up because he smelled pizza. Sam woke up because the arm beneath her head moved. 

"Sorry," Jack muttered as Sam moaned softly in protest as his body decided to stretch without his brain's permission.

"S'ok," she mumbled and then groaned as the sharp tug of the I.V. line prevented her from rolling into his embrace. "I know Janet's only trying to help, but can't she help in a way that's a bit less irritating?"

Jack chuckled and planted a kiss on her temple. "Want me to go find her and ask her if you can get off that thing?"

"Ordering her to pull the damn tube out of my hand would be preferable."

He smiled. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded and obligingly relinquished his arm, settling back against the pillows with a low, disgruntled groan. His nose wrinkling slightly as he realized his socks had yet to be changed and the sweat had since hardened into the fabric, Jack ripped them off of his feet, threw them in the general direction of the hamper, and plucked a fresh pair from his drawer. He was in the process of unrolling them when he bumped into Daniel in the hallway.

"I was gonna mention that to you earlier," Daniel said, pointing to the garments in his hand.

"Oh, no mentioning necessary. I was well aware." Jack leaned against the door jam to Daniel's room and pulled the socks onto his feet. "Just didn't get the chance."

Daniel nodded. "Right. How is she?"

Jack lowered his voice to prevent his words from carrying down the hall and into the range of Sam's hearing. "Cranky, irritable, and adorable as hell. Where's Janet?"

Daniel grinned at Jack's description of Sam and nodded towards the kitchen. "Janet's in the kitchen showing off her culinary skills to Jacob."

"So that's who's behind that delightful aroma..." he said, inhaling deeply and began wandering down the hallway towards the source of the intoxicating blend of Italian spices. Rounding the corner, he said, "That settles it. You both are staying for the rest of our leave. Jake, you have breakfast duty; Janet, you got dinner; and we have leftovers for lunch. How's that sound?"

Janet grinned as she spread sauce over a lightly browned homemade pizza crust. "Thanks for the offer, but somehow I think I'd wear out my welcome. Sam already cringes whenever I get close to her."

"Speaking of Sam," Jacob piped up from the corner, chopping green peppers with practiced ease. "How is she?"

"Well, she's awake."

"And wanting off of the I.V. I'd imagine," Janet said. She deposited the spoon back into the saucepan and, after washing her hands thoroughly in the sink, asked, "Is she still a tad on the grouchy side?

Jack's eyebrows rose infinitesimally. "She's awake."

Groaning softly, Janet led the way back to her patient. As she entered the room and saw Sam sitting cross-legged on the bed, her chin planted firmly on the fist of her free hand, she said, "Looks like you're feeling better."

"I was never feeling bad."

Janet sighed. "Right." As she switched off the various machines, she added, "Well, regardless of you feeling bad' or not, your color's improved. You're not so sallow."

"Great," Sam muttered, obviously unimpressed. "Can you get this thing out of me now?"

Silently, Janet removed the I.V. line and swabbed the area before covering it with cotton and tape. "Now, take it easy," she exhorted gently. "And eat something. We're in the middle of making pizza. It should be ready in about half an hour or so." Jack offered her a grateful smile as she exited the room, one she returned half-heartedly before disappearing around the corner.

"You don't have to be so hard on her, Sam. She's only trying to help you."

Sam sighed, frustratingly running her fingers through her hair. "She didn't even ask me, Jack. She just hooked me up to the damn thing. I thought you brought me here to get away from all that stuff."

Jack rounded the end of the bed and sat down beside her, his hand coming to rest gently on her knee. "I brought you here to get better," he said. "And, yeah, Janet's a doctor, but she's also your friend. She only did it because she thought it was the best thing for you." He paused before adding, "And from what I hear, you weren't exactly in a position to give your consent when she started it." She looked away from him, a mixture of general anger and shame swirling about her eyes. After a moment, he tipped her head up and tucked a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. "We got a half hour," he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek. "You wanna take a shower before dinner?"

Sam offered him a small, wry smile. "Do I smell that bad?"

Jack narrowed his eyes playfully and helped her out of bed. "I wouldn't say that," he answered, his hand alighting on the small of her back. "'Reek' is more like it--ow!" He cried out in mock pain as Sam's elbow dug soundly into his ribs. "Hey, no bashing the old guy."

"Eh," she muttered as they entered the bathroom, "he's tough. He can handle it."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

She still refused to wash her body or even look at herself in the mirror. While Jack did not mind being entrusted to cleanse her body for her, he did find her reluctance a bit disconcerting, but did not mention it lest he upset the fragile balance she had struggled to attain. Tipping her head back into the arch of the hot water, he gingerly rinsed the shampoo from her hair before working the conditioner through the wet strands. A hesitant throb settled itself between his lungs as he poured her body wash into the netting of the bath sponge. Last time they had done this--almost exactly twenty-four hours ago--it had ended in a rather...emotional manner. Cradling her jaw in the palm of his free hand, he ran his finger along the droplets of water peppering her cheek.

"How ya doing?" he asked her softly, his eyes holding the real import of the question. _Are you going to be all right if I continue? Will you remember that I'm the one touching you?_

She looked up at him, her eyes reassuring his own as she placed her hands on his chest and raised herself to her toes to gently kiss him. _Yes_, she answered, _I'll remember_. Relieved of his consternation, he began the delicate task of washing her frail body, biting back his pained and bitter disquiet as the sponge traversed the ridges of her bones and the canvas of her yellowing skin. When he had completed her upper body, he began to move the sponge under the shower's cascade to rinse away the suds, but was stopped by her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

When he looked at her questioningly, she murmured, "It's all right." _You can continue._

"You're sure?" _Remember that it's me._

"Yes." _I will._

Her hands alighted on his shoulders as he lowered himself to one knee in front of her and brought the sponge to her hip, gradually working the lather into her skin in soothing circles. The sponge passed over the narrow expanse of her thigh, over the curve of her knee, and down the length of her calf--her breath did not waver and her hands remained steady on his shoulders. Smiling inwardly at her show of faith, he whisked the lather around her remaining skin, giving the tangle of golden curls at the apex of her legs a wide berth, and stood, unable to help the slight glint of pride that sparkled in his eyes. "I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled. _I know you do_. "I love you back."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later to find Janet pulling a pizza out of the oven while Jacob and Daniel discussed politics over beer. "Ah," Jack sighed, a slight smile on his face. "Pizza and beer--two of my favorite food groups." Sam tossed him a sidelong grin as she crossed the kitchen to retrieve a glass from the cupboard.

"How you feeling, honey?" Jacob asked, pausing in his long-winded diatribe against the current policies of the Tok'Ra regarding their Taur'i allies.

"Fine."

Whether her reply was deliberately curt or simply cut off by her immediate large gulp of water, Jacob was not certain, but either way, he did not let it effect him. "Glad to hear it," he told her as she pulled out a chair next to Daniel and slowly lowered herself into it.

Noting Sam's look of discomfort, Daniel frowned. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think I was just lying in bed too long."

Janet did not miss Sam's blatantly scathing remark, and sighed as she handed Jack the pizza cutter. Biting back the umpteen medical reasons for Sam's soreness that flew into her brain and converged into one snide comeback, she pulled a stack of plates from the cupboard and set them on the table.

"Ta-da!" Jack said approaching the table with the pizza-laden cutting board in hand. Grabbing the chair next to Sam, he accepted a plate from Jacob loaded with two pieces of the gooey, cheesy, everything-but-anchovies goodness and set it in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, a smile on her lips that failed to reach her eyes.

"Welcome," Jack said, and then added in a lower, much more sympathetic tone, "I'll eat what you don't."

The smile seeped into her eyes then as she lifted one of the slices to her mouth and took a tentative bite.

* * *

_Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one._

_Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be_

_reintegrated_

_into_

_the whole._

* * *

The day was ending better than Sam had anticipated. After everyone had had their fill at dinner, Janet and Jacob started a fire in the pit in front of the cabin while the rest of them cleaned up. When the kitchen was in some semblance of order, Jack pulled out his guitar, located another one for Jacob, and, marshmallows in hand, the three had tromped out to join Janet and Jacob by the roaring fire. 

She was sitting at Jack's feet, leaning against the log behind her, her head resting lazily on his knee. As Jack and Jacob began yet another hearty chorus of "American Pie," Sam smiled inwardly at the easy rapport they had established since her father's arrival. Jack had told her that the two of them had gotten the opportunity to talk during her mid-afternoon "nap" and had "hashed the stuff that needed to get hashed." Judging by their good-natured digs at each other and the laughter that permeated their company, it had gone well and for that she was thankful.

"Wanna maffmawo?" Daniel had scooted over beside her, his mouth full of puffed sugar, and was holding a perfectly toasted marshmallow out towards her, the proffered confection dangling precariously from a whittled stick.

She laughed at his mangled speech, and shook her head. "That's all right. I wouldn't want to deprive you."

Working the marshmallow around his mouth to dissolve it, he said wryly, "Yeah, because my daily allowance of sugar hasn't been met today. Between the two of us, Janet and I have devoured half of the bag." He moved the stick closer to her. "Go on," he urged. "Take it."

Growling slightly at his adamancy, she slipped the browned marshmallow from the stick and popped it into her mouth. "Yoo hah-ee?"

Daniel grinned. "Absolutely." As he leaned against the log behind her, his shoulder lightly contacting hers, he said, "I'm sorry we haven't gotten much chance to talk these past few days."

"That's all right," she assured him and placed her hand affectionately over his. "I understand."

"Yeah, well, about your understanding..." he began, his eyes drifting towards the fire and his voice dropping several decibels before he continued. "Jack and I did a lot of talking today and he told me some of the...things you went through...in order to save our lives." He cleared his throat which had suddenly become tight and turned back to look at her. "I wanted to say thank you...even though it doesn't seem like nearly enough to repay you for what you...suffered for us."

"You don't have to repay me, Daniel," she answered softly. "I did what anyone would have done."

"No," he said immediately. "You didn't. I can't think of anyone else who would go to such lengths to keep their loved ones alive. If we were part of any other culture, you would have been sainted by now."

She flinched at his religious reference and shifted her gaze to the fire. "Yeah, well..." she muttered, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them close. "I think I've had enough of being revered to last me a couple lifetimes." Before he could open his mouth to ask forgiveness for his slip, she added, "And don't apologize. There's no need."

He nodded, his brow creased and his blue eyes concerned, but surrendered to the silence that engulfed them and pretended to listen as the rest of their company sang an old Beetles song. Eventually he muttered, "You don't always have to be strong, you know."

"Strong?" she answered her eyes widening as incredulity swept through her. "Daniel, I've cried more in the past week than I have my entire life. I haven't been strong; I've been a mess."

"Have you been broken?"

Sam stared at him, unable to comprehend either his question or his motive for asking it. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not getting at anything, I just--" He broke off the thought with a frustrated sigh as his head dropped to hang idly from his neck. Finally, he took Sam's hand firmly in his and said, "Come with me."

Obediently, curiously, Sam rose unsteadily to her feet and followed Daniel as he headed for the cabin. As the pace he set began to strain her ability, she gasped, "Can you slow down? The cabin's not going anywhere." He did, but his jaw tightened visibly as he complied with her request, a response that incited a small a degree of hesitation within her gut. "What's all this about?"

Daniel opened the front door and gently pulled her inside. "I'm about to show you."

"Can't you just tell me?" Daniel's atypical behavior was quickly turning her hesitation to fear. She could only think of a few other instances when his eyes held determination of this severity and they were all related to life-or-death scenarios.

"Apparently not," he muttered as he tugged her into the bathroom and flipped the light on.

She sighed and took a step towards him, her eyes quietly pleading. "Look, Daniel, I'm sorry that I didn't understand your question, but there's no reason to--"

"Look in the mirror."

She stopped breathing. Several moments elapsed as her eyes grew to saucers and she felt a dead chill gradually permeate the air and soak into the waning piths of her muscles. As her breath returned with a shuddering gasp, she was able to secure the presence of mind needed to choke out, "W-what?"

"Look in the mirror."

His eyes had changed. Sympathy had come to mingle with determination and somewhere in the amalgam love had surfaced and shined reassuringly back at her. But she did not want his reassurances, and she did not want his sympathy. She wanted his emotional distance, his apathy, his ignorance--anything but his love. But there it was, staring back at her, alive and strong, and screaming at her that he was not apathetic, distant, or ignorant. In fact, he knew and in light of his knowing, he could not be apathetic or remain distant. He knew. _Yes_...his eyes told her gently...he knew.

And in the face of his knowledge--his horrible, fearsome knowledge--she was terrified.

"Daniel," she whispered, her voice trembling, "Please don't..."

He took a step towards her, gently grasped her upper arms and pulled her towards him. "Come on, Sam," he urged, his voice low and soothing. "We'll do it together, all right?"

"No," she breathed, her head shaking back and forth with pained deliberation. Her round, clear irises replete with dread, she silently pleaded with him to release her, but simultaneously knew the futility of the desperate request. "Please, Daniel," she whispered, her voice quaking in time with the trembling of her body, "I can't. Not now."

His fingers remained persistently clenched around her arms as she tried to back away towards the door, and his voice dropped substantially, wafting heavily, entirely over the brunt of her unwillingness. "If not now, Sam...when?"

Even as she battled desperately against its implications, she felt the draft of revelation overtake her and gradually drain the force from her body. She could not speak, not in the face of this profundity; her head shifted slowly from side to side and she watched the floor beneath her feet sway with the depth of her loathing. In the annals of her analytical, calculating brain the ratio of now to when unequivocally equaled never.

"Why are you so afraid?

_...because I remember._ But the words could not leap the chasm separating her mind and her tongue; she would not let them. To do so would invite the emotional bedlam that she had fiercely struggled to avoid these past few days. She knew what he was after, had recognized his intent the moment he had first exhorted her to look in the goddamned mirror--he wanted her to witness the physical manifestation of what they had done to her mind. To reconcile the dichotomy that still remained.

She did not possess the strength to do as he asked, nor did she possess the will.

"Why are you doing this?" The question was weakly stated, her speech slurred by the sudden enormity of her exhaustion, but even so, her tone was desperate, pleading with him to retract his request and forget everything he knew about her remaining division.

But he could not do that. The reason was simple.

"Because I love you, Sam. I care about you." He paused and bent towards her, his forehead coming mere centimeters from her own. "And I refuse to sit by and watch you slowly kill yourself."

Her eyes were closing then and she was shaking her head, violently denying his accusation. "I'm not," she was whispering. "That's not what--"

"Isn't it?"

"No." Another whisper, fragile and fading and entirely unconvincing.

"Come here." And he was taking her by the shoulders and directing her to face the mirror, his body very close, very firm against her back. "Open your eyes." Her body was turning towards his, her shoulders caving and nestling against his chest; her head heavy and hanging loosely from her neck; her fingers desperately clenching around the fabric of his corduroy shirt. "It's all right, Sam," he was whispering. "Open your eyes."

And she was complying, but was refusing to look in the glass; she was refusing to see what her mind was aching to tell her. And then Daniel's eyes were in front of her--very soft, very loving--and he was begging her silently to do this monstrous thing for him, to save her own life as she had saved his. And then his eyes were shifting to look at their reflection and she was begging him not to leave her alone; she was afraid she was telling him, so very afraid of the image in the mirror.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

_No. I can't..._

But her chin was in his hand and he was turning her head and she was losing the control she had painstakingly erected and then she was finding that she could

not

look

away

from

the image in the mirror

It was broken, contorted, skewed, like the glass had once shattered and been pieced together by a child. There was an eye; and there, a limb; a hand, just there; a mouth, twisted into an awful purple loop; and now there was another eye, this one severed down the middle of the iris, appearing inhuman; and then there was the body...fragmented and misshapen and lost within drapes of fabric--hiding, it seemed, from the purveyors of this madness that separated eye from face and arm from hand, that could not unscramble the juxtaposition of these basic parts into a complex whole. This image was without form, void of any realness, an artist's poor rendering of a soul just prior to the brink of death.

And then she was realizing--

and he was saying _tell me what you see._

And she was saying _I see_

_...myself._

* * *

_Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one._

_Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be reintegrated into the whole._

_

* * *

_


	6. Reconstruction

**Warning**: Explicit adult material ahead. I went back and forth over whether or not to include it in the story. I didn't want to degrade the material at all, and I wanted to stay away from anything that might be misconstrued as voyeristic. But then I realized that rediscovering sexuality is a momentous step in rape recovery, and, in order to stay true to the subject matter, it had to be included. At first, I tried to make it not-so-scandalizing, but it lost the quality I was looking for, so I tried for a balance between the two, which I'm not sure I achieved. At any rate, here it is.

* * *

Alea Iacta Est 

Part V:

Reconstruction

* * *

She awoke slowly, unaware that she had ever been clutched by sleep, and moaned softly as the brilliant warmth of the sun fluttered across her eyelids. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead." His voice was muffled as if her ears--or his mouth--were wrapped in cotton wool. And then the bed was moving, dipping as he purportedly stretched out next to her and she felt his fingers brush like butterflies against her forehead. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt swollen, her throat parched. Instead of words, her body convulsed as a raspy cough swelled in her lungs and sped through her throat.

"Easy, baby," she heard him whisper. "Take it easy." His arm was beneath her shoulders then, and she was being elevated to better accommodate her breathing. "Take a couple sips of this," she heard as a straw brushed her lips and eased itself into her mouth as she opened it. The water was cool against her mouth's arid tissues and felt like a blessed draught of pure heaven. Relinquishing the straw, she felt her body being laid back against the bed with the utmost care and then heard another voice--female this time--trickle down from somewhere close, somewhere above her body.

"Sam, can you open your eyes, honey?"

Janet. Janet was next to her; she could smell the doctor's perfume. Struggling mightily to do as her friend requested, she managed to open her eyes to narrow slits and immediately shut them again as a blinding light grated against her irises. She heard someone moan and belatedly realized that the sound had issued from her own throat.

"Shut the blinds," she heard Janet utter. Seconds later, the red-orange tint beyond her eyelids and the warmth accompanying it vanished. "The blinds are shut, Sam. It's not as bright now. Do you think you can try opening your eyes one more time?" She wanted to nod, but her muscles refused to cooperate; instead, she again forced her eyelids apart and, after her eyes had focused, she found that she was looking into Jack's beautifully rugged, handsomely concerned face. He was reclining next to her, his body screaming that it ached to hold her, but was refraining out of respect for the others present. He offered her a relieved smile instead.

"Hey there," he said tenderly, whisking his fingertips softly around the edge of her jaw. "'Bout time you woke up."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her throat convulsed in a difficult swallow and on her second try she managed, "How long...?"

"Almost thirty-six hours, Sam," Janet intoned. "We were starting to get a tad worried."

"She was starting," her father corrected softly. "The rest of us began worrying thirty-five and a half hours ago." He was trying to cover his concern with humor, she knew, but was failing miserably. "Do you remember anything, honey?"

Succeeding at nodding this time around, she added a soft, "Yeah," before again swallowing harshly. Suddenly her eyes widened as the haze enveloping her memories faded and, almost in a panic, she asked, "Where's Daniel?" She needed to see him, she knew; talk to him. She needed to talk to him right now.

"Whoa, honey," Jacob told her, "take it easy. He's in the living room. You want me to get him?"

She nodded, her eyes still open and quite alert. "Please."

"He's been a mess ever since you...passed out," Jack muttered, gently smoothing a tendril of her hair that did not require smoothing.

She nodded again, her eyes looking up at him, pleading. "You weren't mad at him, were you?"

"Well..." Jack began, but was immediately cut off.

"Yes, he was," Daniel said from the doorway. "And with good reason."

Sam disengaged her fingers from Jack's and held her hand out to her friend. "No," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Come here," she managed before her voice broke, the constriction of her throat disallowing her further speech.

Surprised by her entreaty, Daniel stepped into the room and crossed to her bedside, cautiously sitting next to her at her request. As she lifted her back from the mattress, her movement greatly aided by Jack's hand supporting her shoulder, she reached her arms around Daniel's neck and clung to him, her tears finally falling as she felt his arms tentatively encircle her back. "Thank you," she breathed, clutching his body as tightly as her weakened muscles would allow. She smiled through her tears as his embrace strengthened and his hand alighted on the back of her head, softly cradling it against his shoulder. Drawing a deep, shuddering draught of air, she exhaled, her breath again forming words. "Thank you..."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did you check the bathrooms?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Funny," Janet scowled as she lugged her suitcase down the steps. "But when we get back and you discover that you left your toothbrush on the bathroom counter, don't expect me to go back and get it for you."

"Nice try, but I don't have to brush my teeth. Selmak takes care of plaque and gum disease and all those other oral hygiene nightmares."

Daniel glanced up from packing the trunk of the sedan, his eyebrows arched appreciatively. "Now that's a perk."

Jacob grinned and tossed him a duffle bag. "Tell me about it."

"So, class," Jack began as he whipped a pillow into the backseat, "this week in Intro to Snakes 101 we have covered the two main advantages of sharing your body with a reptile. One--you can play hours of football and mock the puny ability of the lesser mortals. Two--you never have to visit the dentist again. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Jacob said, a deep frown etched across his face. He paused dramatically and placed his fisted hands firmly on his hips, utterly enjoying watching Jack O'Neill squirm under the severity of his scrutiny. A smile breaking his features, he asked, "When did I ever call you a lesser mortal?"

"You didn't," Jack replied, obviously relieved and not missing a beat. "I was referring to Daniel."

"And to think that I actually wanted to stay the extra two weeks," Daniel muttered as he stepped back to examine his work on the trunk.

"Aww, c'mon, Danny," Jack enthused warmly. "You know you had fun. You can still stay a couple more days. You know you want to."

"No," Daniel answered, slamming the truck with a decided push. "No, I don't." He paused, a slight smile flickering across his face. "Besides, I think you and Sam need some time to...get better acquainted."

Jacob grinned at the comment, but raised his hands. "Hey, not in front of her old man, huh?"

"You guys talking about me?" Sam's curious tone beckoned them as she carefully walked down the steps and approached the suddenly quiet trio. She glanced up at Jack, her eyebrow arched suspiciously as she silently begged an answer.

Slipping an arm around her waist, Jack replied, "Only about your finer qualities."

Her eyes narrowed, her disbelief apparent, but she chose to dismiss it in favor of giving her father a warm embrace. His arms were gentle as he pulled her towards him, mindful now of her fragility. Though she had gained strength in the interceding two and a half weeks since their arrival, she was still quite frail and would be for some time. "I am so proud of you, Sammie," he murmured and placed a soft kiss on her temple. "Don't ever forget that."

She sniffed slightly and shook her head. "I won't." Pulling away from him, but leaving her hands on his shoulders, she looked up, her eyes bright, and whispered, "Thank you for staying."

He smiled and gently cupped the side of her face in his palm. "Anytime, honey. I love you."

Returning his smile, she nodded, murmuring, "I love you, too," and then stepped towards him to give him another hug before walking over to Janet who had emerged from the cabin after having double checked the entire thing for forgotten articles. Her smile turning decidedly sheepish, Sam said, "Thanks for putting up with me. I know I got kinda..."

Janet smiled dryly. "Childish? Immature?"

"I was thinking more bitchy,'" Sam said, her face alight in a full-fledged grin.

Janet chuckled. "Don't worry about it." Casting a glance over Sam's shoulder at Jack, she muttered, "I've dealt with worse." Her mood sobering briefly, she added, "We'll get you back in the SGC, Sam. Hammond is dead-set on it. I think you have the backing of every officer on base. ...but in the meantime," she continued, her lips curving into a suggestive grin, "You and Jack have fun...out here...together...alone."

Sam smiled shyly at her friend's implication and glanced down at the ground briefly, her teeth nervously working across her bottom lip. "Yeah..." she murmured, her chest expanding as she drew a deep breath.

"Hey," Janet beckoned softly, stepping closer to her friend and placing her hand gently against Sam's arm. "Remember what I said. A) he's not them. B) you deserve it. And c) just let yourself go." She smiled reassuringly as Sam nodded, her blue eyes still tinged with nervousness, but sparked with determination. Raising her arms, Janet wrapped her friend in a tight embrace and whispered, "You'll be fine, honey." After several moments, she pulled back, her eyebrows arched in anticipation. "And I expect a full report when you get back, Major." Both women grinned and Sam chuckled softly at her friend's unabashed eagerness.

"Uh-oh," Daniel muttered from behind them. "Two doctors--one medical, one scientific, and both women--are laughing very softly tucked way back here in a corner. Should I be concerned?"

Sam grinned and shook her head. "You shouldn't, no."

Daniel's eyebrows inched up his brow slightly and a small smile crossed his face. "But someone should be, eh?"

"I didn't say that."

"No," Daniel admitted as one of his eyebrows arched dramatically, "but you were _thinking_ it."

"Daniel," Janet sighed, a slight smile dancing on her lips. "I hate to break it to you, but you are not telepathic."

"You haven't given me a physical in over two weeks, so how would you know? Maybe the Asgard kidnapped me in my sleep; _maybe_ this is some sort of Goa'uld mind trick to lull you into a false sense of security; _maybe_..." he paused for dramatic effect before narrowing his eyes and saying, "...I've been cloned."

"Maybe I need to schedule an MRI ASAP."

Daniel's eyes widened. "Maybe not."

Sam laughed, her blue eyes sparkling merrily, "Maybe you've been around Jack for far too long."

Daniel nodded, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "That seems like a much more likely scenario."

Janet smiled broadly at them, winked over her shoulder at Sam, who was still grinning at the antics of her friends' exchange, and headed over to Jack to bid him good bye. When she had left, Daniel smiled down at Sam and opened his arms for a hug. They did not say anything as they embraced, having already tackled the brunt of what needed to be said during the interim of their extended visit. She had saved his life and he, in turn, had saved hers. Under that light, the rest, really, was trivial. Withdrawing from their embrace, Daniel wrapped his arm loosely around her shoulders and escorted her back to the others.

"Hey, careful there," Jack warned as they approached, his eyes narrowing at the pair's proximity. Sam grinned at him and, after pressing a chaste kiss to Daniel's cheek, sidled up to Jack, wrapping her arm snugly around his waist.

With final wishes of safe travel, the pair watched Jacob, Daniel, and Janet pile into the car and take off down the driveway, a small trail of dust billowing from beneath the tires. After the vehicle was out of sight, Jack moved out of Sam's embrace and held out his hand for hers. Silently, they made their way up the walk to the cabin and into the blessed stillness of solitude.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"You warm enough?"

Sam turned at his voice, startled from her ruminations on Janet's parting comments, and nodded as she accepted the cup of tea he handed her. She shifted slightly to make room for him beside her on the couch and then snuggled herself against his side before taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid.

"What were you thinking?

Thankful for the dim light of the fire as a blush slowly crept up her neck, she shook her head, a reticent smile edging her lips. "Nothing," she murmured as she brought the mug again to her mouth.

"Horse hockey," he said as he arched his neck to look at her askance. Intrigued by her sudden timidity, he lifted his hand from around her shoulders and buried his fingers in her hair, a small smile forming on his face. "What?" he asked softly.

She sighed. "Just something Janet said before she left."

He groaned and rolled his eyes before lifting his mug of Irish Crme-enhanced hot chocolate to his lips. "What did she say now? Don't forget to floss?"

"No," she quietly drawled, her courage slowly mounting as the conversation progressed. "Actually, it was more like...advice."

He swallowed and arched his eyebrow curiously. "Advice? What about?"

She smiled inwardly. "You."

Jack's eyes widened as he turned towards her, certain he had misunderstood. "Me?" He asked, his incredulity eliciting a small grin from her. "What the hell could she possibly tell you about me?"

"Oh," she replied softly, her eyes shifting down to contemplate the golden depths of her drink. "Just some things I need to be reminded of every once in awhile."

"Such as...?"

She paused momentarily before looking up at him, her eyes gleaming passionately in the warm orange glow of the fire, but still replete with apprehension. "That you're not them," she whispered, looking away quickly as his face broke in understanding and his hand stilled its gentle massage of her scalp. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "That I deserve the love you want to give me and..." She paused, the third article being the hardest for her to voice and the most difficult for her to reconcile. "And to...just let go...and feel."

Jack was silent for several moments before his fingers reinitiated their tender caress along the nape of her neck and he murmured, "She's right."

She closed her eyes at his affirmation and nodded. "I know." Several moments elapsed in silence before she murmured, "It's never going to go away, is it?"

"What?" he asked softly. "The memories?"

She shook her head and swallowed, willing her tears to remain at bay. "The fear."

Almost immediately after the words had left her mouth, Jack plucked her mug from her hands and sat both of their drinks alongside the couch. Looking up at him questioningly as he shifted her gently away from his side, she felt a spurt of terror shoot through her limbs as she briefly thought that he was leaving her. But as his mouth tenderly claimed hers, the thought fled along with a majority of her fear. As his tongue glided across the crease of her lips, she wrapped her arms around his neck and eagerly allowed him access to her mouth, reveling all the while in his soothing caresses and the reassurance of his hands softly circling her back and neck. Gradually increasing the intensity of the kiss, his mouth moving over and in hers with a passion he had yet to display, he gently pushed her back against the cushions. As he shifted one of his legs in between her thighs and pressed the entire length of his body against her, he broke off their kiss and gazed down at her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You scared?"

Lack of oxygen disallowed a verbal response, but Sam shook her head, her eyes wide and darkened. As she began to pull him back to her, yearning suddenly to feel his mouth again on hers, he reluctantly stopped her. "As much as I love where this is going," he murmured, his breath still slightly labored, "and as much as I love this couch, I'm thinkin' we need a bit more room."

Sam smiled up at him and nodded, attempting to squash the small fragment of apprehension that threatened to invade the space in which her passion had come to reside as their physicality lapsed very briefly. Silently mourning the temporary loss of his body, she took his hand and followed him to their bedroom, her trepidation increasing as they neared the doorway. She stopped involuntarily just inside the threshold and silently cursed herself as she found that she could not meet his gaze. Warmth surrounded her body then as he embraced her and slowly eased her into the room.

"What's that first thing Janet told you to remember?" he murmured, his breath soft and smelling faintly of chocolate and Irish Crme.

"It's you and not them," she replied, her tone practically inaudible as Jack pulled back just enough to look at her.

Briefly pressing his lips to her forehead, he gently cupped the back of her head and settled it against his shoulder. "And the second?"

"That I deserve the love you want to give me."

He nodded, his fingers twining into her hair and gently pulling her head back. The love drenching his eyes caught her breath and incited a faint flutter deep within her belly as she heard him softly whisper, "The third?"

Her gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again as she whispered, "...to let go..."

As his mouth gradually descended towards hers, he prodded, "And...?"

Closing her eyes as his breath passed over her parting lips, she breathed back at him, "And feel."

The passion they had left in the living room found them again as he claimed her mouth as he had minutes before, his tenderness ridding her of any lingering doubt or fear. She gave herself fully to their embrace and when he slowly backed her up until the edge of the bed pressed lightly against her legs, she willingly lowered herself onto the comforter, whimpering slightly as his mouth left hers.

Smiling down at her as he reached over to tug the pull chain of the bedside lamp, he allowed himself to admire her under its dim light; her beauty augmented by the passion in her eyes, her hair beautifully mussed from his fingers, and her lips, swollen and glistening from his kisses...God, she was intoxicating. All thought fled from him then as she grasped the front of his shirt and gently pulled him down to her waiting lips. Nestling one leg again between her thighs, he slowly eased one of his hands under the fabric of her sweatshirt to feather his fingertips over her abdomen. When she jerked at the contact, he released her mouth but did not stay his hand. "Who's touching you?" he murmured, his fingertips brushing gradually up her side, intent, she knew, on enveloping her breast.

But they were his fingers, his soft, strong hand that traveled the course of her skin. Not theirs. This tender exploration founded in love, in passion, was not the brutal violation of 275. This was different, poles apart from that equation where touch equated pain, and penetration was nigh on dehumanization. Under his gentle handling, her body was not a commodity, separate from her mind, distanced from her Self; here, as his hand drifted over the gradual swell of her breast and her eyes slipped blissfully closed as she allowed herself to respond, her mind was present. And he was loving both.

"Who's touching you, baby?" His words were breathless and as she opened her eyes to look up at him, to finally answer his question, she was awed by the bottomless depth of his passion.

Gripping his shoulders, she pulled herself up to sit beside him, her brilliant eyes, her passion unfettered, locked onto his as she slowly raised her arms above her head. "You are," she breathed, a smile flickering across her lips as he sat up and grasped the hem of her sweatshirt to delicately pull it over her head. Knowing that his eyes were gazing unabashedly at her nakedness, she reached both of her hands under the fabric of his shirt and ran her fingers lightly up his stomach and chest, delighting silently in his low groan as her nails gently scraped the two small nubs on his upper body. Jack grabbed the fabric bunched around her wrists and whipped it over his head and arms before tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder.

He gazed down at her then, his face softening as he watched her eyes roam the firm expanse of his chest, her brow furrowing when she caught sight of his collection of battle scars. Her hand reached across the space separating them and a soft fingertip slowly traced the whole of his exposed scar tissue, a feather-soft caress leading from the end of one to the beginning of another. He did not touch her and barely breathed while she reverently explored his torso, intent instead on allowing her this uninterrupted span of moments to realize that his body was marked as hers was--with the remnants of the battles he had fought and survived. When her finger stilled a few inches away from his navel, she looked up at him, her irises crystallized by unshed tears. "I love you."

A smile flitted briefly across his lips. "I love you back." When her lips tipped up slightly at his use of her own oft-spoken words, he gently pushed her back onto the mattress, conciliated by her assurance that she understood--she loved him, body, mind, and soul, just as he loved her. The scars did not matter; if anything, they added character, not disgust. Secure in this realization, she watched him as his eyes freely roamed her bare body and did not flinch when he delicately traced the line of her collarbone to her sternum and slowly eased his fingers across the expanse of her abdomen to the elastic band of her sweatpants.

As she permissively lifted her hips, he bent to place a reverential kiss to belly, the light scratch of his whiskers and soft heat of his mouth eliciting from her a sharp, involuntary gasp. He withdrew, a slight smile across his lips, and hooked his fingers around the heather-gray waistband, pulling the garment and her underwear from her body and depositing them absently on the floor.

He had witnessed her nakedness several times previously, but now he allowed himself the privilege of gazing down at her with unbridled appreciation and did not bother to quell his arousal as he had before. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed as his eyes openly roamed the slopes and curves of her body sprawled lazily across the mattress.

He did not see her protruding bones, her slowly healing contusions, the scabs speckling her limbs and breasts--he saw only his Samantha, the soldier, the scientist, the woman with whom he was so desperately in love. When his eyes again beheld her face, she was smiling radiantly through her tears and reached out towards him, silently beckoning him back to her side.

"What are those for?" he whispered, nuzzling a kiss against her neck before gently pressing his lips to her dampened cheeks. She shook her head, her eyes locked onto his, their depths clear and unmistakably vibrant. He frowned slightly at her response, and delicately traced the contours of her face. "Are you scared?" Tears welled up anew in her eyes as she again shook her head before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a reassuring string of kisses to his shoulder.

He smiled inwardly as he rolled onto his back and settled her slight weight over his, his growing erection brushing against her through the thin fabric of his cotton shorts. She started slightly as she realized the import of the caress, her eyes darting in the direction of the intimate contact before again finding his. Brushing his thumb across her tear-streaked cheekbone, he whispered, "Now are you scared?"

Drawing a deep breath, she shifted slightly over him, her breasts pressing firmly against his chest, and nodded, her reluctance palpable. "Yes," she admitted softly, her gaze drifting momentarily from his. "But," she continued slowly, her hands grasping his shoulders to pull herself up towards him. "I don't want to stop." She bent to kiss him, but was stayed by his fingers pressing softly against her lips.

"If that changes, let me know," he whispered, his eyes suddenly fluxed with sincerity. "We can stop at anytime."

She nodded, greatly relieved by his words, and continued her descent towards his mouth, her lips parted and eager to receive his. As their mouths dueled ardently for long, sweet moments, his hands traveled in sensuous loops across her back and buttocks, squeezing her flesh to increase the pressure between their hips. She moaned softly into his mouth and suddenly longed to feel his body pressed fully against hers.

Twining her arms around his neck, she rolled onto her back and willingly accepted his weight as he propped himself on his elbows above her. As he began to trail a hot path of open-mouthed kissed down her jaw and neck, she gasped his name, an intense heat settling deep within her belly as her hips began to leisurely rock against his hardening member. Smiling as he moaned in response, his fingers tensing slightly around her ribs, she quickly buried her fingers in his hair as his mouth descended upon the sensitive flesh of an aureole. His tongue swirled around the dark skin, and he delighted in its gradual tightening under his ministrations. As his hand trailed up her side to gently attend to her opposite breast, he reveled in the taste of her skin, the soft gasps that issued from her throat, and pressure of her nails across his scalp and shoulders. Gently kneading the supple flesh, he released its twin from his mouth and blew across the moisture his tongue had left behind, his arousal steadily growing as she began to writhe beneath him, his name dancing raggedly off of her lips, her neck arched against the pillow. God, she was beautiful...

Well aware that she was hanging on his every caress, he slowly eased his fingers down her abdomen and across her hip to the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Her eyes opened then as he expected they would, but the tinge of apprehension he caught flittering across her pupils did not sway him. Instead, it only increased his longing to allay that fear, to prove to her body and mind that he would not harm her, that her memories were now memories only and had no power over her Self in the present. She was safe here and allowed to feel as a woman should in the arms of the man who loved her.

Easing himself off of her body, he settled himself on his side next to her, his full length contacting her skin. Pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to her lips, he gazed down at her, his love apparent as he stared warmly into her troubled, highly aroused eyes.

"Jack?" Her voice was breathless, but tinged with anxiety.

Bending to nuzzle a kiss into her golden hair, he whispered, "Trust me, baby." As she nodded slowly, assuring him of her faith, he added, "...just feel," and began circling his fingers around her sensitive flesh. Her eyes fluttered shut as an involuntary shiver claimed her body and small goose bumps arose along her thighs and arms; he smiled lovingly down at her, knowing that she needed to feel her body and mind as one before their consummation and was awestruck that she had entrusted that post to him. After many long moments of exploring the inner skin of her thighs and committing her every response to memory, he slowly traced a single fingertip along the crease of her intimate folds, tangling his fingers gently in the coarse, golden curls.

Her hips bucked at his action and his name tore from her throat as her fingers twined themselves into the silvering strands of his hair. Ignoring his own arousal, he gently eased his finger in between her moistened lips, his eyes never straying from her face and her glorious display of unfettered sensuality. As he began to trace the circle of her tender opening, her eyes opened, her lids heavy, but her sudden consternation evident. He smiled reassuringly down at her and slowly caressed his way up to her clitoris. Her eyes widening as he softly brushed the small bundle of nerves with the tip of his finger, he whispered, "Keep your eyes open, baby. Keep looking at me." Numbly she nodded, the heat that had been creeping through her muscles flaring as he added a second finger to his caress and slowly began to massage her, his skilled touch unerringly pressing the moist bud gently against her pubic bone.

She moaned softly, her eyes fluttering shut briefly as she allowed the sensations to overtake her. When she opened them again, Jack was staring down at her, his eyes replete with love as he watched her slowly succumb to the building intensity of his caress. He knew what he was doing to her, his murmurs of encouragement and gentle kisses augmenting his fingers' movement between her thighs as her body began to quake with the driving force of her arousal. Gasping as she felt a new wave of her own juices flow from her body, her neck arched involuntarily as his speed quickened over her slick folds.

"Jack..." she moaned, her fingers digging frantically into his shoulder as the muscles of her legs contracted sporadically and her back involuntarily arched. As her tremors heightened and the sensations mounted to overwhelming proportions, she grasped the short hairs at his nape and breathed, "I can't..."

She was on the brink, he knew, so close to orgasm that her body was painfully on fire. "You can," he assured her, his motions slowing somewhat as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and almost fearful. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she whispered, "It's too much...I can't..."

"Just let go," he soothed, his hand gradually increasing the pressure between his fingers and her pubic bone. As she gasped his name again, he gently placed his forehead against hers and whispered, "I'm right here, baby...just let go, don't fight it..." And then her hands clutched his shoulders, her nails digging fearsomely into his flesh as her hips bucked sharply against his hand. Smiling down at her as he felt her entire body clench and heard his name tear softly from her throat followed by a train of soft gasps, his fingers continued their course along her flesh, his eyes savoring her gentle, euphoric spasms as she surrendered entirely to the intensity of the orgasm. As her muscles gradually eased of their tension, his fingers stilled and withdrew from her slick folds, the knowledge that she was ready to receive him should she elect that route stirring his own desire. He wiped her juices from his fingers on the material of his shorts and gently gathered her glistening, gasping body into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to her tangled hair. He held her tightly, his fingers trailing softly across the expanse of her back and tangling in her hair as she gradually regained her breath.

When she pushed against his chest several minutes later, he looked down at her and was greeted by her warm, moist lips pressing urgently against his own. She shifted onto his body, her thighs pressed against both sides of his hips and the heat of her wetness settling enticingly onto his lower belly, and proceeded to feather his face with fleeting kisses. Groaning softly as her intimate juices moistened his skin while the coarse hair at the apex of her legs tickled his abdomen, he lifted his hands to gingerly cup her breasts, his thumbs flicking over their tightened peaks. She gasped, her fingers digging into the comforter on either side of his head, and gently rocked her hips against his body. Smiling as his fingers tightened around her breasts and he gasped her name, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rolled onto her back, her thighs parting to accommodate his hips.

Claiming his mouth hungrily, she skirted her nails down his back and eased her fingers beneath the waistbands of his shorts and boxers. When she began to push them from his hips, he pulled back from her kiss and asked breathlessly, "You sure you wanna keep going?"

Her eyes narrowing at his comment, she lifted her feet to either side of his hips, hooked her big toes around the fabric of his remaining garments and, after he raised his hips for her, slowly eased them over his buttocks and down his legs before releasing them as they encircled his feet. Quirking her eyebrow at his stunned appreciation of her leg work, she smiled smugly as he kicked the offending articles to the floor and muttered, "I guess that answers my question."

As he lowered his naked body onto hers, his hips settling gently between her thighs, he kept his eyes focused on her face and attempted to discern any sign of her remaining consternation. But as she shifted beneath him, her eyes alight and alive as he had not witnessed since before their mission to 275, and tenderly traced the outline of his lips, he was relieved of his hesitation. A small smile edging the corners of her mouth she closed her eyes as his lips descended towards hers, her arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders as he shifted more of his weight onto her small frame. God, she was so frail beneath him, so tiny that he feared crushing her; but the passion in her caresses and kisses belied her physical size and served to ease his concern.

Releasing her mouth, he began a hot, wet trail of passionate kisses along her jaw and down her throat. Groaning softly into her neck, he felt his arousal pulse fervently in his groin as she raked her nails down his back and rocked her hips against his. Double-checking her readiness, his eyes narrowed as she gasped when his finger gently probed her small, slick opening. Uncertain whether her cry was due to fear or pleasure, he placed a beckoning kiss on her lips and again traced the periphery of her channel. When her mouth parted and his name was hot on her breath, he smiled and eased one long, gentle finger into her body, preparing it for their imminent union. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto his, his groin tightening as he simultaneously plunged and gazed into the silky depths of her desire.

Needing to feel her climax with him and knowing that he would not be able to sustain himself for long after they were coupled, he flicked his thumb over her sensitive nub and gently withdrew his finger slightly before repeating the caress. Keeping up that pattern, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips and tongue swirling over her glistening skin; several seconds later, a groan wrenched from his throat as her thigh shifted and rubbed firmly against his hardened length. Looking down at her, her breath as labored as his, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs and braced himself above her. Moaning softly as she gently guided him to her entrance, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face as he slowly began to penetrate her folds.

Her eyes widened as he stretched the opening of her moist channel and he momentarily ceased his descent. He knew this would be the hardest part for her; even though she had come this far with him, trusted him enough to follow him to the brink of their consummation, he knew that she was terrified of their joining. He did not blame her and would not be surprised if she could not continue. But she did not ask him to stop, nor did her eyes grow dim with the onset of recollection. Instead, her chest expanded as she drew a deep draught of air into her lungs and her eyes closed briefly before she shifted underneath him and nodded for him to continue.

His desire kept tightly reined, he whispered, "You're sure?"

She nodded again, her muscles slowly relaxing as she did so, and she reassuringly caressed his cheek. "Just go slowly," she whispered, her eyes wavering slightly. "And don't look away." He nodded, his understanding of her requests apparent. They had refused to look at her, he knew, and they had taken her quickly. Much too quickly, he thought as he began to fully realize the extent of her small size. He proceeded into her body with agonizing deliberateness, the pressure of her excruciatingly tight heat around his substantial girth nearly driving him mad.

She whimpered then, her nails digging deeply into his shoulders and her eyes closing painfully. "Am I hurting you?" he gasped, his eyes still steadily trained on hers. She nodded briefly, but clutched his hips as he automatically began to withdraw.

"Just give me a minute," she whispered, her hands moving from his hips to grip his neck and shoulder. He watched her carefully as she splayed her legs further and bent her knees until her thighs brushed his hips, her feel flat on the mattress; her eyes were still closed, and the skin around their edges creased as he felt the muscles surrounding his arousal gradually ease of their tension. Opening her eyes, she nodded up at him, a small, encouraging smile about her lips. "Okay," she whispered.

But he did not move. Frowning slightly, he murmured, "I don't want to hurt you."

Tenderly cupping his jaw, she answered, "Jack, I have so much scar tissue that the pain is inevitable the first few times." Cocking her eyebrow slightly she added, "And I'll be damned if I'm going to let a little pain stand in the way of our sex life. Is that clear, Colonel?"

He grinned down at her. "Crystal, Major." He bent down and captured her mouth, his tongue quickly separating her lips and plundering her recesses as he gradually began to enter her again. Removing one of his hands from beside her, he gently kneaded one of her breasts to distract her from the pain, his thumb and forefinger alternately pinching and flicking her tightened peak, and smiled as she moaned wantonly into his mouth. Moments later his tip gently impacted her cervix, abruptly calling an end to their kiss as their mouths disengaged and their eyes met in a long gaze replete with the intensity of their combined passion.

After several moments spent reveling in the fullness of Jack seated within her body, Sam began to gently rock her hips, instigating his matching rhythm as he started to slowly withdraw and thrust back into her depths. As their rhythm gradually began to escalate, their breathing grew increasingly ragged, punctuated every now and again by soft moans and her breathless gasps. She was so blessedly tight around him, her body so willing, so warm beneath his own. Gazing down into her heavy-lidded eyes, he ground his pelvis against hers directly over her most sensitive folds and watched as her head flew back against the pillow; a low, guttural groan issued from deep within his belly as he felt her internal muscles beginning to contract around him.

She moaned as he began to increase the speed and intensity of his thrusts, her hands grasping his shoulders as she once again felt the first flutters of orgasm building within her belly. And then suddenly he was still within her, but his hips shifted over hers until their weight was pressing firmly against her clitoris; she gasped as he began a series of short, deep thrusts, each one ending with a jolt to her sensitized nub. His name tore from her throat as she involuntarily clenched around him and her eyes closed blissfully as her orgasm overtook her; her back arched as he groaned her name, thrust one final time into her body, his own fluid merging with hers, and held her close as they simultaneously shuddered and convulsed with release.

As his breathing slowly regulated and the outside world came back into focus, Jack lifted his head from the crook of her neck and pressed a series of soft kisses to her jaw and throat. Sam smiled tiredly and languidly stretched her neck against his mouth. His lips moving to brush against the sensitive ridges of her ear, he whispered, "That wasn't so bad, huh?"

She laughed and looked up at him, her eyes shining brilliantly in the dim light. "No," she replied softly, a small grin spreading over her face as she traced the outline of his lips and he gently bit the proffered finger. "That wasn't bad at all." Her lips parted for his immediately as he bent to kiss her, their tongues caressing each other lazily in the afterglow of their love making. As he withdrew from her mouth he shifted and began to withdraw from her body as well, but her hands clutched his hips tightly, disallowing his intended action. "Not yet," she whispered, as he raised his eyebrow questioningly. Tugging gently on his shoulders, urging him back into her arms, she pleaded softly, "Stay just a little longer."

"Sam," he murmured, propping himself above her on his elbows and gazing at her with a mixture of love and hesitation. "Baby, it feels like I'm crushing you."

She shook her head and wrapped her hand around the nape of his neck to gently pull him down to her. "You're not," she whispered, one hand alighting on his head while the other wrapped securely around his shoulders. As he relaxed over her, she sighed and hugged him tightly, cherishing the security of his body as it pressed her into the mattress and lay softening within her depths. Gradually though, his weight became an impediment to her breathing and, as if sensing the change, Jack lifted his head from her shoulder and kissed her tenderly while withdrawing from her. She whimpered softly at the sudden lack of him, and watched as he reached over her head to turn down the blankets. Moving to crawl into the proffered warmth, she gasped sharply as a dull, unexpected ache shot through her lower belly.

His hand was immediately wrapped around her arm. "You all right?"

She nodded, still wincing and continued to ease herself underneath the covers. "Just a little sore," she murmured, offering him a small smile as the heat of his body wrapped reassuringly around hers.

He frowned and pressed a gentle kiss to her mussed strands as his hand alighted on her lower abdomen and began to tenderly massage the area. Sighing softly, her eyes slipped blissfully closed as Jack continued to soothe her sore muscles, unaccustomed and ill-prepared as they had been for their recent exertions. As she gradually began the smooth descent into semi-consciousness, Jack's low timbre beckoned to her, his intonation that of a question.

"Hmm?" she muttered lazily, having missed the original inquiry.

She heard his lips part as he grinned. "A little tired are we?"

"Hey," she groused as she returned his grin. "Give me a break. That's more exercise than I've had in awhile."

"Mmm," he mumbled, his lips burying themselves in her hair as he shifted closer to her, his free arm wrapping tightly around her waist. "We'll have to fix that." When she turned to look up at him, her eyes hesitant and her bottom lip tucked partway between her teeth, he added, "Slowly. Very slowly. You know, like all good exercise regimens are supposed to be laid out. Working the various...muscle groups separately, toning and strengthening them until the...desired effect has been achieved." She smiled dryly up at him and his selective emphasis. "What?" he asked innocently.

She shook her head, her eyes rolling slightly, and then nestled herself closer to him as she removed his hand from her belly, the dull pain having been alleviated. Wrapping her arm around his chest, she asked, "So why did you wake me up? It sounded like a question."

"It was," he said, his hand settling on her forearm. "But it can wait till morning."

"Nu-uh," she replied, a yawn lengthening her jaw. "I'm awake now." Glancing up at him, a sheepish smile on her lips, she added, "Well, sort of." When he grinned down at her and tucked a wayward tendril behind her ear, she asked, "What was it?"

He sighed, and his fingers brushed against her cheek. "I asked why you were crying before."

She frowned and shook her head. "When?"

His voice dropping in register, he clarified, "When I was looking at you."

Understanding passed over her in an undulating wave, leaving her timid and vulnerable in its wake. Her eyes shifting away from his, she murmured, "You called me beautiful.'" She shrugged, her body caving slightly with the admission and added quietly, "I've never thought of myself as beautiful, even before...everything happened. I've never had reason to." A deep sigh flushed across her lips and over his chest as her upper arm unconsciously left him and crossed protectively over her breasts. "And now that..." She trailed off, her voice very near breaking, and pulled slightly away from him, his presence suddenly overwhelming.

Sensing her emotional shift, he pushed her gently onto her back and propped himself beside her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before removing the covering from her upper body. Her hesitation was palpable as he tenderly grasped her wrist, eased her arm away from her chest and placed her hand on the pillow beside her head, his fingers lingering reassuringly on her forearm. His gaze wandered from her eyes to her breasts and the five bright red scars and the purple ridge that stood out in harsh contrast to her porcelain skin. Silently, he traced a single fingertip along the raised surface of each, drawing an imaginary line from the end of one to the beginning of the next, his finger stilling as it rounded the swell of her left breast and came to the end of the purple discoloration. Slowly, almost reverently, he gingerly cupped her supple flesh and placed a train of delicate kisses along the rise of the mark, his breath leading his lips from one healing wound to the next until he ended up where his fingertip had begun the deferential journey.

Looking down at her then, he smiled tenderly into her watery eyes and silently kissed the tears from her cheeks. Cupping her jaw gently in his palm, his pulled away to gaze warmly down at her, his brown eyes sparkling radiantly in the dim light. "I love you," he whispered.

Her eyes wavering beautifully back at him, she reached up and softly caressed his lips. Smiling as he kissed the proffered finger, she breathed, "I love you back." He bent down and brushed his lips tenderly against hers before placing another longer kiss on her forehead and reaching across the bed to turn out the light. She came willingly into his open arms, settling her head in the crook of his shoulder and wrapping her arm securely around his chest, her fingers curling round the curve of his neck while her legs tangled themselves around his. Safe and warm and feeling beautifully loved, she tumbled easily into the gentle tides of sleep.

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He loved watching her, especially when she was unaware of his scrutiny. She was marvelously free to be herself--not that she was not herself when she was with him, but her endearing little habits, her unconscious quirks presented themselves more readily when she was oblivious to the attention. The problem she was in the midst of tackling was obviously vexing her. He could tell by the way she worked her teeth across her upper lip and absently twirled the soft tendrils of hair that had fallen out of her French braid around the end of her pencil.

Her hair had grown out, falling past her shoulders and to the middle of her back in rippling waves of pure silk that his fingers ached to run through unhindered. Lips curving almost indiscernibly, he recalled that morning, how he had woke before her and then, like now, indulged his perpetual desire to watch her, to gaze down at her breathing body lax in sleep and utterly angelic under the gentle arc of the breaking sun. The rays swept across her contours and cast a warm blush across her face and neck, over the soft rise of her shoulders and the slight swell of her exposed breast. And her hair had been strewn across the black fabric of the pillowcase, the strands set on fire by the mask of daybreak. God, she was beautiful...

She never slept long under his scrutiny and, true to form, she had awoken after only a few minutes, her eyes bleary and blinking up at him as her mind crossed the threshold between sleep and awake. She had smiled lazily up at him, her eyes shining brilliantly from underneath their heavy lids and radiating the satisfaction from the previous night that still permeated her body. But he knew from experience that her apparent satisfaction did not hinder her reception of him; she preferred making love in the morning, before the day's duties and complications wore their nerves thin and left their minds addled. Besides, she said, it ensured a bright start and that he couldn't argue with. Due to time constraints, however, their morning together had not ascended to brilliance of that intensity, but waking before the alarm had afforded them a solid ten minutes to say good morning.

She had gained most of her weight back over the interceding year and a half , but her muscles were not as toned as they had been prior to her release from the team which was fine by him. Perhaps it was a blight of his male ego, but he was a bit intimidated making love to a woman with a perfectly sculpted abdomen and rock hard biceps. He preferred her softer form; to use her morning terminology, she was "cuddly" and he was definitely a fan of "cuddly."

There were still times that her memories of 275 impeded her daily functioning and left her a mangled emotional mess, sometimes for days. Because of this, he had transferred from SG-1 shortly after their reinstatement and took a position as tactical supervisor while retaining his status as Hammond's second in command with the understanding that Sam's condition was his top priority. Hammond understood and was quick to allow the both of them whatever time they needed; it was the least the military could do for two people who had been integral in preserving life on Earth more times than he cared to count.

During their time together, she had told him more about what had happened on 275 behind those gilded, horribly ornate doors which had allowed him to come to a deeper understanding, a greater appreciation of her suffering and of her love for him. Not only had she bourn the trauma willingly, but she had chosen to be with him in the aftermath. She trusted him to love her and to be patient as she shifted through the turmoil reaped by the inhabitants of "that damned planet." He did and he strove to be, contenting himself to ride the ebbs and flows of her ability to receive affection, but pushing gently against her boundaries with the understanding, proven hundreds of times over, that he would not hurt her. And she knew that--not only believed it, but knew it, trusted in it, had faith in his intentions towards her and loved him unremittingly and without hesitation. In his book, that was better than any morning spent in bed or passionate embrace.

She coughed softly and her beautiful eyes--eyes that had the ability to speak into his very soul, to communicate more to him in a glance than she ever could with words, to melt his defenses and leave him breathless; eyes that he had spent the past glorious year and a half memorizing--darted across the page of calculations in front of her, narrowing slightly and then widening only to narrow again as she caught sight of something off, something not quite right, something that someone in some department somewhere had missed. Smiling as she turned to her legal pad and began a rampant flurry of incoherent scribbles, he slowly advanced into the lab, clearing his throat to announce his presence as he ambled towards her.

She glanced up from her paper, her pencil momentarily halting its rapid movement, and smiled at him before turning back to the Problem At Hand. Coming to stand behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled a kiss into the crook of her neck. Resting his chin on her shoulder and thanking the designers of the barstool-esque lab chairs for their foresight in increasing the height of the seats, he looked down at the pad she was concentrating on, or at least attempting to. "What'cha workin' on?"

She sighed. "Just some analysis the guys from SG-5 brought back from P2R-894. Gentry is a great biologist, but he's no physicist. The calculations are a mess."

He pressed a consolatory kiss to her temple and smiled inwardly as she tossed her pencil to the table and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, her fingers tangling absently in his hair. She was still thinking about the equation, he knew; yet another reason he hated mathematics. Nestling another kiss to her throat he muttered, "I'm really likin' your hair back like this. It makes your neck a hell of a lot more accessible."

Sam laughed and used his elbow as leverage to turn the chair to face him. "I thought you liked my hair down."

"Oh, I do," he said, idly playing with one of the fallen tendrils.

She smiled wryly up at him and narrowed her eyes. "So what you're saying is...?"

He looked at her, his eyes wide, and shrugged his shoulders. "Nothin'. I'm just sayin'."

Rolling her eyes slightly as he grinned, she spun around again, gathered her various instruments, implements, and pieces of paper into her arms and strode over to the desk to put them away. "What're you making me for dinner tonight?"

Damn. It was Friday. He always made dinner on Fridays. Actually, he always forgot that he was supposed to make dinner on Friday; sometimes he intentionally forgot that it was Friday to give him an excuse to take her out. However, tonight that was not the case. "Uh...whatever you want for dinner tonight?"

She turned briefly from the filing cabinet, her eyes positively lecherous and latching onto him suggestively.

His eyebrows shot upwards at her unmistakable intent. "Okay," he managed, "I can arrange that."

"I thought you might," she grinned as she sauntered back over to him and kissed him softly, the fleeting contact holding the promise of more to come. She regarded him for a moment, her eyes softened, yet still quite...hungry. "Let's get out of here," she murmured.

Obediently flanking her, he said, "Yes sir, Doctor O'Neill, ma'am. I got your six." Raising his eyebrows appreciatively as she exaggerated the sway of her hips, he muttered, "Have I ever got your six..."

He grinned as she laughed, her eyes sparkling merrily as the light caught the diamond on her outstretched hand. "Come on you. Let's go home."

Sweeter words have never been spoken, he thought as they made their way down the corridor and into the elevator, their fingers loosely intertwined as they headed to the surface together.

finis

* * *

For those who identified personally with this story, I wish you the strength of spirit to continue that you may find your joy, hope, and peace once more. It's damn near impossible sometimes, but "impossible" is just another word for "incredible," right? We survived; we're already incredible. :) And feel free to contact me if and when you need to talk to someone who's been there. 

mabynn (at) gmail (dot) com


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